THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

Mrs*  Jefferson  P.  Chandler 


CARLYLE'S    CHOICE    WORKS 


PAST   AND    PRESENT 


PY 
THOMAS     CARLYLE 


NKW    YORK 
HURST    AND     COMPANY 

12;  NASSAU  STREET. 


College 
Library 


PR 


ft) 

12^ 

CONTENTS. 


13ook  I. 

PROEM. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    MIDAS 3 

II.    THE  SPHINX 8 

III.    MANCHESTER  INSURRECTION 16 

FV.    MORRISON'S  PILL 24 

V.    ARISTOCRACY  or  TALENT 28 

VI.    HERO-WORSHIP  .    ,              .             .  34 


ttoofc  II. 

THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 

I.    JOCELIN  OF  BRAKELOND 40 

II.    ST.  EDMUNDSRURY 47 

III.  LANDLORD  EDMUND 51 

IV.  ABBOT  HUGO 57 

V.    TWELFTH  CENTURY 62 

VI.    MOMV  SAMSOX          .„,„.,          ,    ,    ,  .    .  00 


iv  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

VII.    THE  CANVASSING 73 

VIII.    THE  ELECTION 76 

IX.   ABBOT  SAMSON 83 

X.    GOVERNMENT 89 

XI.    TUB  ABBOT'S  WAYS 92 

XII.    THE  ABBOT'S  TROUBLES 98 

XIII.  IN  PARLIAMENT  .    .    „ 103 

XIV.  HENRY  or  ESSEX 105 

XV.    PRACTICAL-DEVOTIONAL 109 

XVI.    ST.  EDMUND 116 

XVII.    THE  BEGINNINGS  123 


33oofc  III. 

THE   MODERN    WORKER. 

I.  PHENOMENA 133 

II.  GOSPEL  OF  MAMMOXISM  .     .     , 141 

III.  GOSPEL  OF  DILETTANTISM 146 

IV.  HAPPY 149 

V.  THE  ENGLISH 153 

VI.  Two  CENTURIES 161 

VII.  OVER-PRODUCTION  ,...,.         .......  165 

VIII.  UNWORKING  ARISTOCRACY 169 

IX.  WORKING  ARISTOCRACY 177 

X.  PLUGSON  OF  UNDERSHOT 182 

XI.  LABOR 190 

XII.  REWARD 194 

XIII.  DEMOCRACY 202 

XIV.  SIR  JABESH  WINDBAG 214 

XV.  MORRISON  AGAIN            213 


CONTENTS. 


Boofe  IV. 

HOKOSCOPE. 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

1.    ARISTOCRACIES 230 

11.    BRIBERY  COMMITTEE 242 

III.  THE  ONE  INSTITUTION 24? 

IV.  CAPTAINS  OP  INDUSTRY 259 

V.    PERMANENCE 265 

VI.    THE  LANDED 271 

VII.    THE  GIFTED 276 

VIII.    TIIE  DIDACTIC  281 


PAST   AND    PRESENT. 


BOOK   I. 

PROEM. 


CHAPTER   I. 

MIDA3. 

THE  condition  of  England,  on  which  many  pamphlets  are 
now  in  the  course  of  publication,  and  many  thoughts  unpub- 
lished are  going  on  in  every  reflective  head,  is  justly  regarded 
as  one  of  the  most  ominous,  and  withal  one  of  the  strangest, 
ever  seen  in  this  world.  England  is  full  of  wealth,  of  multi- 
farious produce,. supply  for ;  Jiumau  want  in  every  kind;  yet 
England  is  dying  of  inanition.  With  unabated  bounty  the 
land  of  England  blooms  and  grows  ;  waving  with  yellow  har- 
vests ;  thick-studded  with  workshops,  industrial  implements, 
with  fifteen  millions  of  workers,  understood  to  be  the  strong- 
est, the  cunningest  and  the  willingest  our  Earth  ever  had ; 
these  men  are  here ;  the  work  they  have  done,  the  fruit  they 
have  realized  is  here,  abundant,  exuberant  on  every  hand  of 
us :  and  behold,  some  baleful  fiat  as  of  Enchantment  has  gone 
forth,  saying,  "  Touch  it  not,  ye  workers,  ye  master-workers, 
ye  master-idlers  ;  none  of  you  can  touch  it,  no  man  of  yon 
shall  be  the  better  for  it ;  this  is  enchanted  fruit !  "  On  th«i 
poor  workers  such  fiat  falls  first,  in  its  rudest  shape  ;  but 
on  the  rich  master-workers  too  it  falls ;  neither  can  the  rich 


PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  I. 

master-idlers,  nor  any  richest  or  highest  man  escape,  but  all 
are  like  to  be  brought  low  with  it,  and  made  "  poor  "  enough, 
in  the  money  sense  or  a  far  fataler  one. 

Of  these  successful  skilful  workers  some  two  millions,  it  is 
now  counted,  sit  in  Workhouses,  Poor-law  Prisons ;  or  have 
"  out-door  relief  "  flung  over  the  wall  to  them,  —  the  work- 
house Bastille  being  filled  to  bursting,  and  the  strong  Poor-law 
broken  asunder  by  a  stronger.1  They  sit  there,  these  many 
months  now ;  their  hope  of  deliverance  as  yet  small.  In  work- 
houses, pleasantly  so  named,  because  work  cannot  be  done  in 
them.  Twelve  hundred  thousand  workers  in  England  alone  ; 
their  cunning  right-hand  lamed,  lying  idle  in  their  sorrowful 
bosom ;  their  hopes,  outlooks,  share  of  this  fair  world,  shut 
in  by  narrow  walls.  They  sit  there,  pent  up,  as  in  a  kind  of 
horrid  enchantment;  glad  to  be  imprisoned  and  enchanted, 
that  they  may  not  perish  starved.  The  picturesque  Tourist, 
in  a  sunny  autumn  day,  through  this  bounteous  realm  of  Eng- 
land, describes  the  Union  Workhouse  on  his  path.  "  Passing 
by  the  Workhouse  of  St.  Ives  in  Huntingdonshire,  on  a  bright 
day  last  autumn,"  says  the  picturesque  Tourist,  "  I  saw  sitting 
on  wooden  benches,  in  front  of  their  Bastille  and  within  their 
ring-wall  and  its  railings,  some  half-hundred  or  more  of  these 
men.  Tall  robust  figures,  young  mostly  or  of  middle  age ;  of 
honest  countenance,  many  of  them  thoughtful  and  even  intel- 
ligent-looking men.  They  sat  there,  near  by  one  another  ;  but 
in  a  kind  of  torpor,  especially  in  a  silence,  which  was  very 
striking.  In  silence :  for,  alas,  what  word  was  to  be  said  ?  , 
An  Earth  all  lying  round,  crying,  Come  and  till  me,  come  and 
reap  me ;  —  yet  we  here  sit  enchanted  !  In  the  eyes  and  brows 
of  these  men  hung  the  gloomiest  expression,  not  of  anger,  but 
of  grief  and  shame  and  manifold  inarticulate  distress  and 
weariness  ;  they  returned  my  glance  with  a  glance  that  seemed 
to  say,  '  Do  not  look  at  us.  We  sit  enchanted  here,  we  know 
not  why.  The  Sun  shines  and  the  Earth  calls ;  and,  by  the 
governing  Powers  and  Impotences  of  this  England,  we  are 
forbidden  to  obey.  It  is  impossible,  they  tell  us ! '  There  was 

1  The  Return  of  Paupers  for  England  and  Wales,  at  Ladyday,  1842,  is, 
"  Indoor  221,687,  Outdoor  1,207,402,  Total  1,429,089."    Official  Report, 


CHAP.  I.  MIDAS.  5 

something  that  reminded  me  of  Dante's  Hell  in  the  look  of  all 
Miis  ;  and  I  rode  swiftly  away." 

So  many  hundred  thousands  sit  in  workhouses  :  and  other 
"hundred  thousands  have  not  yet  got  even  workhouses  ;  and  in 
thrifty  Scotland  itself,  in  Glasgow  or  Edinburgh  City,  in  their 
dark  lanes,  hidden  from  all  but  the  eye  of  God,  and  of  rare 
Benevolence  the  minister  of  God,  there  are  scenes  of  woe  and 
destitution  and  desolation,  such  as,  one  may  hope,  the  Sun 
oever  saw  before  in  the  most  barbarous  regions  where  men 
dwelt.  Competent  witnesses,  the  brave  and  humane  Dr^Alison, 
who  speaks  what  he  knows,  whose  noble  Healing  Art  in  his 
charitable  hands  becomes  once  more  a  truly  sacred  one,  report 
these  things  for  us  :  these  things  are  not  of  this  year,  or  of 
last  year,  have  no  reference  to  our  present  state  of  commercial 
stagnation,  but  only  to  the  common  state.  Not  in  sharp  fever- 
fits,  but  in  chronic  gangrene  of  this  kind  is  Scotland  suffering. 
A  Poor-law,  any  and  every  Poor-law,  it  may  be  observed,  is 
but  a  temporary  measure ;  an  anodyne,  not  a  remedy :  Rich 
ind  Poor,  when  once  the  naked  facts  of  their  condition  have 
tome  into  collision,  cannot  long  subsist  together  on  a  mere 
Poor-law.  True  enough  :  —  and  yet,  human  beings  cannot  be 
left  to  die  !  Scotland  too,  till  something  better  come,  must 
have  a  Poor-law,  if  Scotland  is  not  to  be  a  by-word  among  the 
nations.  Oh,  what  a  waste  is  there  ;  of  noble  and  thrice-noble 
national  virtues ;  peasant  Stoicisms,  Heroisms  ;  valiant  man- 
ful habits,  soul  of  a  Nation's  worth,  —  which  all  the  metal  of 
Potosi  cannot  purchase  back ;  to  which  the  metal  of  Potosi, 
and  all  you  can  buy  with  it,  is  dross  and  dust ! 

Why  dwell  on  this  aspect  of  the  matter  ?  It  is  too  indis- 
putable, not  doubtful  now  to  any  one.  Descend  where  you 
will  into  the  lower  class,  in  Town  or  Country,  by  what  avenue 
you  will,  by  Factory  Inquiries,  Agricultural  Inquiries,  by 
Revenue  Returns,  by  Mining-Laborer  Committees,  by  opening 
your  own  eyes  and  looking,  the  same  sorrowful  result  discloses 
itself :  you  have  to  admit  that  the  working  body  of  this  ricli 
English  Nation  has  sunk  or  is  fast  sinking  into  a  state,  to 
which,  all  sides  of  it  considered,  there  was  literally  never  any 
parallel.  At  Stockport  Assizes,  —  and  this  too  has  no  reference 


6  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  I. 

to  the  present  state  of  trade,  being  of  date  prior  to  that,  —  a 
Mother  and  a  Father  are  arraigned  and  found  guilty  of  poison- 
ing three  of  their  children,  to  defraud  a  "  burial-society "  of 
some  £3  8s.  due  on  the  death  of  each  child  :  they  are  arraigned, 
found  guilty ;  and  the  official  authorities,  it  is  whispered,  hint 
that  perhaps  the  case  is  not  solitary,  that  perhaps  you  had 
better  not  probe  farther  into  that  department  of  things.  This 
is  in  the  autumn  of  1841 ;  the  crime  itself  is  of  the  previous 
year  or  season.  "Brutal  savages,  degraded  Irish,"  mutters 
the  idle  reader  of  Newspapers ;  hardly  lingering  on  this  in- 
cident. Yet  it  is  an  incident  worth  lingering  on ;  the  de- 
pravity, savagery  and  degraded  Irishism  being  never  so  well 
admitted.  In  the  British  land,  a  human  Mother  and  Father, 
of  white  skin  and  professing  the  Christian  religion,  had  done 
this  thing ;  they,  with  their  Irishism  and  necessity  and  sav- 
agery had  been  driven  to  do  it.  Such  instances  are  like  the 
highest  mountain  apex  emerged  into  view ;  under  which  lies  a 
whole  mountain  region  and  land,  not  yet  emerged.  A  human 
Mother  and  Father  had  said  to  themselves,  What  shall  we  do 
to  escape  starvation  ?  We  are  deep  sunk  here,  in  our  dark 
cellar  ;  and  help  is  far.  —  Yes,  in  the  Ugolino  Hunger-tower 
stern  things  happen ;  best-loved  little  Gaddo  fallen  dead  on 
his  Father's  knees  !  —  The  Stockport  Mother  and  Father  think 
and  hint :  Our  poor  little  starveling  Tom,  who  cries  all  day  for 
victuals,  who  will  see  only  evil  and  not  good  in  this  world :  ir 
he  were  out  of  misery  at  once  ;  he  well  dead,  and  the  rest  of  us 
perhaps  kept  alive  ?  It  is  thought,  and  hinted ;  at  last  it  is; 
done.  And  now  Tom  being  killed,  and  all  spent  and  eaten,  Is 
it  poor  little  starveling  Jack  that  must  go,  or  poor  little  starve- 
ling Will  ?  —  What  a  committee  of  ways  and  means  ! 

In  starved  sieged  cities,  in  the  uttermost  doomed  ruin  of 
old  Jerusalem  fallen  under  the  wrath  of  God,  it  was  prophe- 
sied and  said,  "  The  hands  of  the  pitiful  women  have  sodden 
their  own  children."  The  stern  Hebrew  imagination  could 
conceive  no  blacker  gulf  of  wretchedness ;  that  was  the  ultima- 
tum of  degraded  god-punished  man.  And  we  here,  in  modern 
England,  exuberant  with  supply  of  all  kinds,  besieged  by  noth- 
ing if  it  be  not  by  invisible  Enchantments,  are  we  reaching 


CHAP.  I.  MIDAS.  7 

that  ?  —  How  come  these  things  ?    Wherefore  are  they,  where- 
fore should  they  be  ? 

Nor  are  they  of  the  St.  Ives  workhouses,  of  the  Glasgow 
lanes,  and  Stockport  cellars,  the  only  unblessed  among  us. 
This  successful  industry  of  England,  with  its  plethoric  wealth, 
has  as  yet  made  nobody  rich ;  it  is  an  enchanted  wealth,  and 
belongs  yet  to  nobody.  We  might  ask,  Which  of  us  has  it 
enriched  ?  We  can  spend  thousands  where  we  once  spent 
hundreds ;  but  can  purchase  nothing  good  with  them.  In  Poor 
and  Rich,  instead  of  noble  thrift  and  plenty,  there  is  idle 
luxury  alternating  with  mean  scarcity  and  inability.  We  have 
sumptuous  garnjtures  for  our  Life,  but  have  forgotten  to  live 
in  the  middle  of  them.  It  is  an  enchanted  wealth;  no  man  of 
us  can  yet  touch  it.  The  class  of  men  who  feel  that  they  are 
truly  better  off  by  means  of  it,  let  them  give  us  their  name ! 

Many  men  eat  finer  cookery,  drink  dearer  liquors,  —  with 
what  advantage  they  can  report,  and  their  Doctors  can :  but 
in  the  heart  of  them,  if  we  go  out  of  the  dyspeptic  stomach, 
what  increase  of  blessedness  is  there  ?  Are  they  better,  beauti- 
f uler,  stronger,  braver  ?  Are  they  even  what  they  call  "  hap- 
pier "  ?  Do  they  look  with  satisfaction  on  more  things  and 
human  faces  in  this  God's-Earth ;  do  more  things  and  human 
faces  look  with  satisfaction  on  them  ?  Not  so.  Human  faces 
gloom  discordantly,  disloyally  on  one  another.  Things,  if  it 
be  not  mere  cotton  and  iron  things,  are  growing  disobedient 
to  man.  The  Master  Worker  is  enchanted,  for  the  present, 
like  his  Workhouse  Workman ;  clamors,  in  vain  hitherto,  for 
a  very  simple  sort  of  "  Liberty :  "  the  liberty  "  to  buy  where 
he  finds  it  cheapest,  to  sell  where  he  finds  it  dearest."  With 
guineas  jingling  in  every  pocket,  he  was  no  whit  richer;  but 
now,  the  very  guineas  threatening  to  vanish,  he  feels  that  he 
is  poor  indeed.  Poor  Master  Worker  !  And  the  Master  Un- 
workcr,  is  not  IK-  in  a  still  fataler  situation  ?  Pausing  amid 
his  game-preserves,  with  awful  eye, — as  he  well  may  !  Co- 
ercing fifty-pound  tenants  ;  coercing,  bribing,  cajoling;  ''doing 
what  he  likes  with  his  own."  His  mouth  full  of  loud  futilities, 
and  arguments  to  prove  the  excellence  of  his  Corn-law  ;  and  in 


8  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  t 

his  heart  the  blackest  misgiving,  a  desperate  half -consciousness 
that  his  excellent  Corn-law  is  indefensible,  that  his  loud  argu- 
ments for  it  are  of  a  kind  to  strike  men  too  literally  dumb. 

To  whom,  then,  is  this  wealth  of  England  wealth  ?  Who  is 
it  that  it  blesses  ;  makes  happier,  wiser,  beautifuler,  in  any  way 
better  ?  Who  has  got  hold  of  it,  to  make  it  fetch  and  carry 
for  him,  like  a  true  servant,  not  like  a  false  mock-servant : 
to  do  him  any  real  service  whatsoever  ?  As  yet  no  one.  We 
have  more  riches  than  any  Nation  ever  had  before ;  we  have 
less  good  of  them  than  any  Nation  ever  had  before.  Our  suc- 
cessful industry  is  hitherto  unsuccessful ;  a  strange  success,  if 
we  stop  here !  In  the  midst  of  plethoric  plenty,  the  people 
perish ;  with  gold  walls,  and  full  barns,  no  man  feels  himself 
safe  or  satisfied.  Workers,  Master  Workers,  Unworkers,  all 
men,  come  to  a  pause  ;  stand  fixed,  and  cannot  farther.  Fatal 
paralysis  spreading  inwards,  from  the  extremities,  in  St.  Ives 
workhouses,  in  Stockport  cellars,  through  all  limbs,  as  if  to- 
wards the  heart  itself.  Have  we  actually  got  enchanted,  then ; 
accursed  by  some  god  ?  — 

Midas  longed  for  gold,  and  insulted  the  Olympians.  He  got 
gold,  so  that  whatsoever  he  touched  became  gold, — and  he, 
with  his  long  ears,  was  little  the  better  for  it.  Midas  had  mis- 
judged the  celestial  music-tones ;  Midas  had  insulted  Apollo 
and  the  gods  :  the  gods  gave  him  his  wish,  and  a  pair  of  long 
ears,  which  also  were  a  good  appendage  to  it.  What  a  truth  in 
these  old  Fables ! 


CHAPTER  IL 

THE   SPHINX. 


How  true,  for  example,  is  that  other  old  Fable  of  the  Sphinx, 
who  sat  by  the  wayside,  propounding  her  riddle  to  the  passen- 
gers, which  if  they  could  not  answer  she  destroyed  them  r  Such 
a  Sphinx  is  this  Life  of  ours,  to  all  men  and  societies  of  men. 
Nature,  like  the  Sphinx,  is  of  womanly  celestial  loveliness  and 


CHAF.  H.  THE   SPHINX.  9 

tenderness ;  the  face  and  bosom  of  a  goddess,  but  ending  in 
claws  and  the  body  of  a  lioness.  There  is  in  her  a  celestial 
beauty,  —  which  means  celestial  order,  pliancy  to  wisdom  ;  but 
there  is  also  a  darkness,  a  ferocity,  fatality,  which  are  infer- 
nal. She  is  a  goddess,  but  one  not  yet  disim prisoned ;  one 
still  half-imprisoned,  —  the  articulate,  lovely  still  encased  in 
the  inarticulate,  chaotic.  How  true  !  And  does  she  not  pro- 
pound her  riddles  to  us  ?  Of  each  man  she  asks  daily,  in  mild 
voice,  yet  with  a  terrible  significance,  "Knowest  thou  the 
meaning  of  this  Day  ?  What  thou  canst  do  To-day ;  wisely 
attempt  to  do  ?  "  Nature,  Universe,  Destiny,  Existence,  how- 
soever we  name  this  grand  unnamable  Fact  in  the  midst  of 
which  we  live  and  struggle,  is  as  a  heavenly  bride  and  conquest 
to  the  wise  and  brave,  to  them  who  can  discern  her  behests 
and  do  them ;  a  destroying  fiend  to  them  who  cannot.  An- 
swer her  riddle,  it  is  well  with  thee.  Answer  it  not,  pass  on 
regarding  it  not,  it  will  answer  itself ;  the  solution  for  thee  is 
a  thing  of  teeth  and  claws ;  Nature  is  a  dumb  lioness,  deaf  to 
thy  pleadings,  fiercely  devouring.  Thou  art  not  now  her  vic- 
torious bridegroom  ;  thou  art  her  mangled  victim,  scattered  on 
the  precipices,  as  a  slave  found  treacherous,  recreant,  ought  to 
be  and  must. 

With  Nations  it  is  as  with  individuals :  Can  they  rede  the 
riddle  of  Destiny  ?  This  English  Nation,  will  it  get  to  know 
the  meaning  of  its  strange  new  To-day  ?  Is  there  sense  enough 
extant,  discoverable  anywhere  or  anyhow,  in  our  united  twenty- 
seven  million  heads  to  discern  the  same ;  valor  enough  in  our 
twentyrseven  million  hearts  to  dare  and  do  the  bidding  there- 
of 7  It  will  be  seen  !  — 

The  secret  of  gold  Midas,  which  he  with  his  long  ears  never 
could  discover,  was,  That  he  had  offended  the  Supreme  Powers  ;\ 
—  that  he  had  parted  company  with  the  eternal  inner  Facts  of 
this  Universe,  and  followed  the  transient  outer  Appearances 
thereof;   and  so  was  arrived  here.     Properly  it  is  the  secret" 
of  all  unhappy  men  and  unhappy  nations.      Had  they  known 
Nature's  right  truth,  Nature's  right  truth  would  have  made 
them    free.      They   have  become  enchanted;    stagger  spell- 
bound, reeling  on  the  brink  of  huge  peril,  because  they  were 


10  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  r. 

not  wise  enough.  They  have  forgotten  the  right  Inner  True, 
and  taken  up  with  the  Outer  Sham-true.  They  answer  the 
Sphinx's  question  wrong.  Foolish  men  cannot  answer  it 
aright!  Foolish  men  mistake  transitory  semblance  for  eter- 
nal fact,  and  go  astray  more  and  more. 

Foolish  men  imagine  that  because  judgment  for  an  evil 
thing  is  delayed,  there  is  no  justice,  but  an  accidental  one, 
here  below.  Judgment  for  an  evil  thing  is  many  times  delayed 
some  day  or  two,  some  century  or  two,  but  it  is  sure  as  life, 
it  is  sure  as  death !  In  the  centre  of  the  world- whirlwind, 
verily  now  as  in  the  oldest  days,  dwells  and  speaks  a  God. 
The  great  soul  of  the  world  is  just.  0  brother,  can  it  be  need- 
•ful  now,  at  this  late  epoch  of  experience,  alter  eighteen  cen- 
/turies  of  Christian  preaching  for  one  thing,  to  remind  thee  of 
\such  a  fact;  which  all  manner  of  Mahometans,  old  Pagan 
Romans,  Jews,  Scythians  and  heathen  Greeks,  and  indeed  more 
or  less  all  men  that  God  made,  have  managed  at  one  time  to  see 
into ;  nay  which  thou  thyself,  till  "  red-tape  "  strangled  the  in- 
ner life  of  thee,  hadst  once  some  inkling  of :  That  there  is  jus- 
tice here  below  ;  and  even,  at  bottom,  that  there  is  nothing  else 
but  justice  !  Forget  that,  thou  hast  forgotten  all.  Success  will 
never  more  attend  thee  :  how  can  it  now  ?  Thou  hast  the  w,hole 
Universe  against  thee.  No  more  success  :  mere  sham-success, 
for  a  day  and  days  ;  rising  ever  higher,  —  towards  its  Tarpeian 
Rock.  Alas,  how,  in  thy  soft-hung  Longacre  vehicle,  of  pol- 
ished leather  to  the  bodily  eye,  of  red-tape  philosophy,  of 
expediences,  club-room  moralities,  Parliamentary  majorities 
to  the  mind's  eye,  thou  beautifully  rollest :  but  knowest  thou 
whitherward  ?  It  is  towards  the  road's  end.  Old  use-and- 
wont ;  established  methods,  habitudes,  once  true  and  wise ; 
man's  noblest  tendency,  his  perseverance,  and  man's  ignoblest, 
his  inertia;  whatsoever  of  noble  and  ignoble  Conservatism 
there  is  in  men  and  Nations,  strongest  always  in  the  strongest 
men  and  Nations :  all  this  is  as  a  road  to  thee,  paved  smooth 
through  the  abyss, — till  all  this  end.  Till  men's  bitter  neces- 
sities can  endure  thee  no  more.  Till  Nature's  patience  with 
thee  is  done ;  and  there  is  no  road  or  footing  any  farther,  and 
the  abyss  yawns  sheer  !  — 


CHAP.  II.  THE   SPHINX.  11 

Parliament  and  the  Courts  of  Westminster  are  venerable  to 
me ;  how  venerable ;  gray  with  a  thousand  years  of  honorable 
age !  For  a  thousand  years  and  more,  Wisdom  and  faithful 
Valor,  struggling  amid  much  Folly  and  greedy  Baseness,  not 
without  most  sad  distortions  in  the  struggle,  have  built  them 
up ;  and  they  are  as  we  see.  For  a  thousand  years,  this  Eng- 
lish Nation  has  found  them  useful  or  supportable ;  they  have 
served  this  English  Nation's  want ;  been  a  road  to  it  through 
the  abyss  of  Time.  They  are  venerable,  they  are  great  and 
strong.  And  yet  it  is  good  to  remember  always  that  they  are 
not  the  venerablest,  nor  the  greatest,  nor  the  strongest !  Acts 
of  Parliament  are  venerable  ;  but  if  they  correspond  not  with 
the  writing  on  the  "  Adamant  Tablet,"  what  are  they  ?  Prop- 
erly their  one  element  of  venerableness,  of  strength  or  great- 
ness, is,  that  they  at  all  times  correspond  therewith  as  near  as 
by  human  possibility  they  can.  They  are  cherishing  destruc- 
tion in  their  bosom  every  hour  that  they  continue  otherwise. 

Alas,  how  many  causes  that  can  plead  well  for  themselves 
in  the  Courts  of  Westminster ;  and  yet  in  the  general  Court 
of  the  Universe,  and  free  Soul  of  Man,  have  no  word  to  utter ! 
Honorable  Gentlemen  may  find  this  worth  considering,  in 
times  like  ours.  And  truly,  the  din  of  triumphant  Law-logic, 
and  all  shaking  of  horse-hair  wigs  and  learned-Serjeant  gowns 
having  comfortably  ended,  we  shall  do  well  to  ask  ourselves 
withal,  What  says  that  high  and  highest  Court  to  the  verdict  ? 
For  it  is  the  Court  of  Courts,  that  same  ;  where  the  universal 
soul  of  Fact  and  very  Truth  sits  President ;  —  and  thither- 
ward, more  and  more  swiftly,  with  a  really  terrible  increase  of 
swiftness,  all  causes  do  in  these  days  crowd  for  revisal,  —  for 
confirmation,  for  modification,  for  reversal  with  costs.  Dost 
thou  know  that  Court ;  hast  thou  had  any  Law-practice  there  '' 
What,  didst  thou  never  enter ;  never  file  any  petition  of  re- 
dress, reclaimer,  disclaimer  or  demurrer,  written  as  in  thy 
heart's  blood,  for  thy  own  behoof  or  another's ;  and  silently 
await  the  issue  ?  Thou  knowest  not  such  a  Court  ?  Hast 
merely  heard  of  it  by  faint  tradition  as  a  thing  that  was  or 
had  been  ?  Of  thee,  I  think,  we  shall  get  little  benefit. 

For  the   gowns  of   learned-serjeants  are  good  :   parchment 


12  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  I. 

records,  fixed  forms,   and  poor  terrestrial  Justice,  with  or 

(without  horse-hair,  what  sane  man  will  not  reverence  these  ? 
And  yet,  behold,  the  man  is  not  sane  but  insane,  who  considers 
these  alone  as  venerable.  Oceans  of  horse-hair,  continents  of 
parchment,  and  learned-serjeant  eloquence,  were  it  continued 
\  till  the  learned  tongue  wore  itself  small  in  the  indefatigable 
j  learned  mouth,  cannot  make  unjust  just.  The  grand  question 
'  still  remains,  Was-the  -judgment  just  ?  If  unjust,  it  will  not 
and  cannot  get  harbor  for  itself,  or  continue  to  have  footing 
in  this  Universe,  which  was  made  by  other  than  One  Unjust. 
Enforce  it  by  never  such  statuting,  three  readings,  royal  as- 
sents ;  blow  it  to  the  four  winds  with  all  manner  of  quilted 
trumpeters  and  pursuivants,  in  the  rear  of  them  never  so 
many  gibbets  and  hangmen,  it  will  not  stand,  it  cannot  stand. 
From  all  souls  of  men,  from  all  ends  of  Nature,  from  the 
Throne  of  God  above,  there  are  voices  bidding  it :  Away, 
away  !  Does  it  take  no  warning ;  does  it  stand,  strong  in  its 
three  readings,  in  its  gibbets  and  artillery-parks  ?  The  more 
woe  is  to  it,  the  frightfuler  woe.  It  will  continue  standing 
for  its  day,  for  its  year,  for  its  century,  doing  evil  all  the 
while ;  but  it  has  One  enemy  who  is  Almighty :  dissolution, 
explosion,  and  the  everlasting  Laws  of  Nature  incessantly 
advance  towards  it ;  and  the  deeper  its  rooting,  more  obsti- 
nate its  continuing,  the  deeper  also  and  huger  will  its  ruin 
and  overturn  be. 

In  this  God's-world,  with  its  wild-whirling  eddies  and  mad 
foam-oceans,  where  men  and  nations  perish  as  if  without  law, 
and  judgment  for  an  unjust  thing  is  sternly  delayed,  dost 
thou  think  that  there  is  therefore  no  justice  ?  It  is  what  the 
fool  hath  said  in  his  heart.  It  is  what  the  wise,  in  all  times, 
were  wise  because  they  denied,  and  knew  forever  not  to  be. 
I  tell  thee  again,  there  is  nothing  else  but  justice.  One  strong 
tiling  I  find  here  below :  the  just  thing,  the  true  thing.  My 
friend,  if  thou  hadst  all  the  artillery  of  Woolwich  trundling 
at  thy  back  in  support  of  an  unjust  thing ;  and  infinite  bon- 
fires visibly  waiting  ahead  of  thee,  to  blaze  centuries  long  for 
thy  victory  on  behalf  of  it,  —  I  would  advise  thee  to  call  halt, 
to  fling  down  thy  baton,  and  say,  "  In  God's  name,  No ! " 


CHAP.  II.  THE  SPHINX.  13 

Thy  "  success  "  ?  Poor  devil,  what  will  thy  success  amount 
to  ?  If  the  thing  is  unjust,  thou  hast  not  succeeded  ;  no,  not 
though  bonfires  blazed  from  North  to  South,  and  bells  rang, 
and  editors  wrote  leading-articles,  and  the  just  thing  lay 
trampled  out  of  sight,  to  all  mortal  eyes  an  abolished  and 
annihilated  thing.  Success  ?  In  few  years  thou  wilt  be  dead 
and  dark,  —  all  cold,  eyeless,  deaf ;  no  blaze  of  bonfires,  ding- 
dong  of  bells  or  leading-articles  visible  or  audible  to  thee  again 
at  all  forever  :  "What  kind  of  success  is  that !  — 

It  is  true,  all  goes  by  approximation  in  this  world ;  with 
any  not  insupportable  approximation  we  must  be  patient. 
There  is  a  noble  Conservatism  as  well  as  an  ignoble.  Would 
to  Heaven,  for  the  sake  of  Conservatism  itself,  the  noble  alone 
were  left,  and  the  ignoble,  by  some  kind  severe  hand,  were 
ruthlessly  lopped  away,  forbidden  evermore  to  show  itself ! 
For  it  is  the  right  and  noble  alone  that  will  have  victory  in 
this  struggle ;  the  rest  is  wholly  an  obstruction,  a  postpone- 
ment and  fearful  imperilment  of  the  victory.  Towards  an  i 
eternal  centre  of  right  and  nobleness,  and  of  that  only,,  is  all  V 
this  confusion  tending.  We  already  know  whither  it  is  all 
tending ;  what  will  have  victory,  what  will  have  none !  The 
Heaviest  will  reach  the  centre.  The  Heaviest,  sinking  through 
coinj)lex_fluctuating  media  and  vortices,  has  its  deflections,  its 
obstructions,  nay  "at  times  its  resiliences,  its  reboundings  ; 
whereupon  some  blockhead  shall  be  heard  jubilating,  "  See, 
your  Heaviest  ascends!"  —  but  at  all  moments  it  is  moving 
centreward,  fast  as  is  convenient  for  it;  sinking,  sinking;  and, 
by  laws  older  than  the  World,  old  as  the  Maker's  first  Plan  of 
the  World,  it  has  to  arrive  there. 

Await  the  issue.  In  all  battles,  if  you  await  the  issue,  each 
fighter  has  prospered  according  to  his  right.  His  right  and 
his  might,  at  the  close  of  the  account,  were  one  and  the  same. 
He  has  fought  with  all  his  might,  and  in  exact  proportion  to 
all  his  right  he  has  prevailed.  His  very  death  is  no  victory 
over  him.  He  dies  indeed ;  but  his  work  lives,  very  truly 
lives.  A  heroic  Wallace,  quartered  on  the  scaffold,  cannot/ 
hinder  that  his  Scotland  become,  one  day,  a  part  of  England  ft 


14  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  I. 

but  he  does  hinder  that  it  become,  on  tyrannous  unfair  terms, 
a  part  of  it;  commands  still,  as  with  a  god's  voice,  from  his 
old  Valhalla  and  Temple  of  the  Brave,  that  there  be  a  just 
real  union  as  of  brother  and  brother,  not  a  false  and  merely 
semblant  one  as  of  slave  and  master.  If  the  union  with  Eng- 
land be  in  fact  one  of  Scotland's  chief  blessings,  we  thank 
Wallace  withal  that  it  was  not  the  chief  curse.  Scotland  is 
not  Ireland  :  no,  because  brave  men  rose  there,  and  said, 
"  Behold,  ye  must  not  tread  us  down  like  slaves  ;  and  ye  shall 
not,  —  and  cannot!"  Fight  on,  thou  brave  true  heart,  and 
falter  not,  through  dark  fortune  and  through  bright.  The 
cause  thou  fightest  for,  so  far  as  it  is  true,  no  farther,  yet  pre- 
cisely so  far,  is  very  sure  of  victory.  The  falsehood  alone  of 
it  will  be  conquered,  will  be  abolished,  as  it  ought  to  be  :  but 
the  truth  of  it  is  part  of  Nature's  own  Laws,  co-operates  with 
,  the  World's  eternal  Tendencies,  and  cannot  be  conquered. 

The  dust  of  controversy,  what  is  it  but  the  falsehood  flying 
off  from  all  manner  of  conflicting  true  forces,  and  making  such 
a  loud  dust- whirlwind, — that  so  the  truths  alone  may  remain, 
and  embrace  brother-like  in  some  true  resulting-force  !  It  is 
ever  so.  Savage  fighting  Heptarchies  :  their  fighting  is  an 
ascertainment,  who  has  the  right  to  rule  over  whom ;  that  out 
of  such  waste-bickering  Saxondom  a  peacefully  co-operating 
England  may  arise.  Seek  through  this  Universe ;  if  with 
other  than  owl's  eyes,  thou  wilt  find  nothing  nourished  there, 
nothing  kept  in  life,  but  what  has  right  to  nourishment  and 
life.  The  rest,  look  at  it  with  other  than  owl's  eyes,  is  not 
living ;  is  all  dying,  all  as  good  as  dead  !  Justice  was  ordained 
from  the  foundations  of  the  world;  and  will  last  with  the 
world  and  longer. 

From  which  I  infer  that  the  inner  sphere  of  Fact,  in  this 
present  England  as  elsewhere,  differs  infinitely  from  the  outer 
sphere  and  spheres  of  Semblance.  That  the  Temporary,  here 
as  elsewhere,  is  too  apt  to  carry  it  over  the  Eternal.  That  he 
who  dsvells  in  the  temporary  Semblances,  and  does  not  pene- 
trate into  the  eternal  Substance,  will  not  answer  the  Sphinx- 
riddle  of  To-day,  or  of  any  Day.  For  the  substance  alone  is 


CHAP.  11  THE   SPHINX.  0  15 

substantial ;  that  is  the  law  of  Fact ;  if  you  discover  not 
that,  Fact,  who  already  knows  it,  will  let  you  also  know  it 
by  and  by ! 

What  is  Justice  ?  that,  on  the  whole,  is  the  question  of  the 
Sphinx  to  us.  The  law  of  Fact  is,  that  Justice  must  and  will 
be  done.  The  sooner  the  better ;  for  the  Time  grows  stringent, 
frightfully  pressing  !  "  What  is  Justice  ? "  ask  many,  to 
whom  cruel  Fact  alone  will  be  able  to  prove  responsive.  It 
is  like  jesting  Pilate  asking,  What  is  Truth  ?  Jesting  Pilate 
had  not  the  smallest  chance  to  ascertain  what  was  Truth.  He 
could  not  have  known  it,  had  a  god  shown  it  to  him.  Thick 
serene  opacity,  thicker  than  amaurosis,  veiled  those  smiling 
eyes  of  his  to  Truth ;  the  inner  retina  of  them  was  gone  para- 
lytic, dead.  He  looked  at  Truth ;  and  discerned  her  not, 
there  where  she  stood.  "  What  is  Justice  ?  "  The  clothed 
embodied  Justice  that  sits  in  Westminster  Hall,  with  penal- 
ties, parchments,  tipstaves,  is  very  visible.  But  the  unem-J 
bodied  Justice,  whereof  that  other  is  either  an  emblem,  or  else 
is  a  fearful  indescribability,  is  not  so  visible  !  For  the  unem- 
Ixxlied  Justice  is  of  Heaven ;  a  Spirit,  and  Divinity  of  Heaven, 
—  ///visible  to  all  but  the  noble  and  pure  of  soul.  The  impure 
ignoble  gaze  with  eyes,  and  she  is  not  there.  They  will  prove 
it  to  you  by  logic,  by  endless  Hansard  Debatings,  by  bursts 
of  Parliamentary  eloquence.  It  is  not  consolatory  to  behold  ! 
For  properly,  as  many  men  as  there  are  in  a  Nation  who  can 
withal  see  Heaven's  invisible  Justice,  and  know  it  to  be  on 
Earth  also  omnipotent,  so  many  men  are  there  who  stand 
between  a  Nation  and  perdition.  So  many,  and  no  more. 
Heavy-laden  England,  how  many  hast  thou  in  this  hour  ? 
The  Supreme  Power  sends  new  and  ever  new,  all  born  at  least 
with  hearts  of  flesh  and  not  of  stone ;  —  and  heavy  Misery 
itself,  once  heavy  enough,  will  prove  didactic !  — 


16  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  I 


CHAPTER  III. 

MANCHESTER    INSURRECTION. 

BLTJSTEROWSKI,  Colacorde,  and  other  Editorial  prophets  of 
the  Continental-Democratic  Movement,  have  in  their  leading- 
articles  shown  themselves  disposed  to  vilipend  the  late  Man- 
chester Insurrection,  as  evincing  in  the  rioters  an  extreme 
backwardness  to  battle;  nay  as  betokening,  in  the  English 
People  itself,  perhaps  a  want  of  the  proper  animal  courage 
indispensable  in  these  ages.  A  million  hungry  operative  men 
started  up,  in  utmost  paroxysm  of  desperate  protest  against 
their  lot ;  and,  ask  Colacorde  and  company,  How  many  shots 
were  fired  ?  Very  few  in  comparison !  Certain  hundreds  of 
drilled  soldiers  sufficed  to  suppress  this  million-headed  hydra, 
and  tread  it  down,  without  the  smallest  appeasement  or  hope 
of  such,  into  its  subterranean  settlements  again,  there  to  recon- 
sider itself.  Compared  with  our  revolts  in  Lyons,  in  Warsaw 
and  elsewhere,  to  say  nothing  of  incomparable  Paris  City  past 
or  present,  what  a  lamblike  Insurrection  !  — 

The  present  Editor  is  not  here,  with  his  readers,  to  vindi- 
cate the  character  of  Insurrections ;  nor  does  it  matter  to  us 
whether  Blusterowski  and  the  rest  may  think  the  English  a 
courageous  people  or  not  courageous.  In  passing,  however,  let 
us  mention  that,  to  our  view,  this  was  not  an  unsuccessful  In- 
surrection ;  that  as  Insurrections  go,  we  have  not  heard  lately 
of  any  that  succeeded  so  well. 

A  million  of  hungry  operative  men,  as  Blusterowski  says, 
rose  all  up,  came  all  out  into  the  streets,  and  —  stood  there. 
What  other  could  they  do  ?  Their  wrongs  and  griefs  were 
bitter,  insupportable,  their  rage  against  the  same  was  just :  but 
who  are  they  that  cause  these  wrongs,  who  that  will  honestly 
make  effort  to  redress  them  ?  Our  enemies  are  we  know  not 
who  or  what ;  our  friends  are  we  know  not  where  !  How  shall 


CHAP.  III.  MANCHESTER  INSURRECTION.  17 

we  attack  any  one,  shoot  or  be  shot  by  any  one  ?  Oh,  if  the 
accursed  invisible  Nightmare,  that  is  crushing  out  the  life  of 
us  and  ours,  would  take  a  shape ;  approach  us  like  the  Hyrca- 
oian  tiger,  the  Behemoth  of  Chaos,  the  Archfiend  himself ;  iu 
-uiy  shape  that  we  could  see,  and  fasten  on  !  — ^uiaiican  have 
himself  shot  with  cheerfulness ;  but  it  needs  first  that  he  see 
clearly  for  what.  Show  him  the  divine  face  of  Justice,  then 
the  diabolic  monster  which  is  eclipsing  that :  he  will  fly  at  the 
throat  of  such  monster,  never  so  monstrous,  and  need  no  bid- 
ding to  do  it.  Woolwich  grape-shot  will  sweep  clear  all  streets, 
blast  into  invisibility  so  many  thousand  men  :  but  if  your 
Woolwich  grape-shot  be.  but  eclipsing  Divine  Justice,  and  the 
God's-radiance  itself  gleam  recognizable  athwart  such  grape- 
shot,  —  then,  yes  then  is  the  time  come  for  fighting  and  attack- 
ing. All  artillery-parks  have  become  weak,  and  are  aboiit  to 
dissipate :  iu  the  God's-thunder,  their  poor  thunder  slackens,  ( 
ceases ;  finding  that  it  is,  in  all  senses  of  the  term,  a  brute 
one !  — 

That  the  Manchester  Insurrection  stood  still,  on  the  streets, 
with  an  indisposition  to  fire  and  bloodshed,  was  wisdom  for  it  " 
even  as  an  Insurrection.  Insurrection,  never  so  necessary,  is 
a  most  sad  necessity  ;  and  governors  who  wait  for  that  to  in- 
struct them,  are  surely  getting  into  the  fatalest  courses,  — 
proving  themselves  Sons  of  Nox  and  Chaos,  of  blind  Cowardice, 
not  of  seeing  Valor  !  How  can  there  be  any  remedy  in  insur- 
rection ?  It  is  a  mere  announcement  of  the  disease,  visible 
now  even  to  Sons  of  Night?~  Insurrection  usually  "  gains " 
little  ;  usually  wastes  how  much  !  One  of  its  worst  kinds  of 
waste,  to  say  nothing  of  the  rest,  is  that  of  irritating  and  ex- 
asperating men  against  each  other,  by  violence  done  ;  which  is 
always  sure  to  be  injustice  done,  for  violence  does  even  justice 
unjustly. 

Who  shall  compute  the  waste  and  loss,  the  obstruction  of 
every  sort,  that  was  produced  in  the  Manchester  region  by 
Peterloo  alone  !  Some  thirteen  unarmed  men  and  women  cut 
down, — the  number  of  the  slain  and  maimed  is  very  count- 
able: but  the  treasury  of  rag*,  burning  hidden  or  visible  in  all 
hearts  ever  since,  more  or  less  perverting  the  effort  and  aim  of 

VOL.  Til.  2 


18  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  I. 

all  hearts  ever  since,  is  of  unknown  extent.  "  How  ye  came 
among  us,  in  your  cruel  armed  blindness,  ye  unspeakable 
County  Yeomanry,  sabres  flourishing,  hoofs  prancing,  and 
slashed  us  down  at  your  brute  pleasure  ;  deaf,  blind  to  all  our 
claims  and  woes  and  wrongs ;  of  quick  sight  and  sense  to  your 
own  claims  only  !  There  lie  poor  sallow  work-worn  weavers, 
and  complain  no  more  now ;  women  themselves  are  slashed 
and  sabred,  howling  terror  fills  the  air  ;  and  ye  ride  prosperous, 
very  victorious,  —  ye  unspeakable  :  give  us  sabres  too,  and 
then  come  on  a  little  ! "  Such  are  Peterloos.  In  all  hearts 
that  witnessed  Peterloo,  stands  written,  as  in  fire-characters, 
or  smoke-characters  prompt  to  become  fire  again,  a  legible 
balance-account  of  grim  vengeance  ;  very  unjustly  balanced, 
much  exaggerated,  as  is  the  way  with  such  accounts  :  but  pay- 
able readily  at  sight,  in  full  with  compound  interest!  Such 
things  should  be  avoided  as  the  very  pestilence  !  For  men's 
hearts  ought  not  to  be  set  against  one  another ;  but  set  with 
one  another,  and  all  against  the  Evil  Thing  only.  Men's  souls 
ought  to  be  left  to  see  clearly ;  not  jaundiced,  blinded,  twisted 
all  awry,  by  revenge,  mutual  abhorrence,  and  the  like.  An 
Insurrection  that  can  announce  the  disease,  and  then  retire 
with  no  such  balance-account  opened  anywhere,  has  attained 
the  highest  success  possible  for  it. 

And  this  was  what  these  poor  Manchester  operatives,  with 
all  the  darkness  that  was  in  them  and  round  them,  did  manage 
to  perform.  They  put  their  huge  inarticulate  question,  "  What 
do  you  mean  to  do  with  us  ?  "  in  a  manner  audible  to  every 
reflective  soul  in  this  kingdom  ;  exciting  deep  pity  in  all  good 
men,  deep  anxiety  in  all  men  whatever ;  and  no  conflagration 
or  outburst  of  madness  came  to  cloud  that  feeling  anywhere, 
but  everywhere  it  operates  unclouded.  All  England  heard  the 
question  :  it  is  the  first  practical  form  of  our  Sphinx-riddle. 
England  will  answer  it ;  or,  on  the  whole,  England  will  perish ; 
—  one  does  not  yet  expect  the  latter  result ! 

For  the  rest,  that  the  Manchester  Insurrection  could  yet  dis- 
cern no  radiance  of  Heaven  on  any  side  of  its  horizon ;  but 
feared  that  all  lights,  of  the  O'Connor  or  other  sorts,  hitherto 
kindled,  were  but  deceptive  fish-oil  transparencies,  or  bog  will- 


CHAP.  III.  MANCHESTER  INSURRECTION.  19 

o'-wisp  lights,  and  no  dayspring  from  on  high :  for  this  also 
we  will  honor  the  poor  Manchester  Insurrection,  and  augur 
well  of  it.  A  deep  unspoken  sense  lies  in  these  strong  men,  — 
inconsiderable,  almost  stupid,  as  all  they  can  articulate  of  it 
is.  Amid  all  violent  stupidity  of  speech,  a  right  noble  instinct 
of  what  is  doable  and  what  is  not  doable  never  forsakes  them  : 
the  strong  inarticulate  men  and  workers,  whom  Fact  patronizes ; 
of  whom,  in  all  difficulty  and  work  whatsoever,  there  is  good 
augury  !  This  work  too  is  to  be  done  :  Governors  and  Govern- 
ing Classes  that  can  articulate  and  utter,  in  any  measure,  what 
the  law  of  Fact  and  Justice  is,  may  calculate  that  here  is  a 
Governed  Class  who  will  listen. 

And  truly  this  first  practical  form  of  the  Sphinx-question, 
inarticulately  and  so  audibly  put  there,  is  one  of  the  most  im- 
pressive ever  asked  in  the  world.  "  Behold  us  here,  so  many 
thousands,  millions,  and  increasing  at  the  rate  of  fifty  every 
hour.  We  are  right  willing  and  able  to  work ;  and  on  the 
Planet  Earth  is  plenty  of  work  and  wages  for  a  million  times 
as  many.  We  ask,  If  you  mean  to  lead  us  towards  work  ;  to 
try  to  lead  us,  —  by  ways  new,  never  yet  heard  of  till  this  new 
unheard-of  Time  ?  Or  if  you  declare  that  you  cannot  lead 
us  ?  And  expect  that  we  are  to  remain  quietly  unled,  and  in 
a  composed  manner  perish  of  starvation  ?  What  is  it  you  ex- 
pect  of  us  ?  What  is  it  you  mean  to  do  with  us  ?  "  This  ques- 
tion, I  say,  has  been  put  in  the  hearing  of  all  Britain ;  and  will 
be  again  put,  and  ever  again,  till  some  answer  be  given  it. 

Unhappy  Workers,  unhappier  Idlers,  unhappy  men  and 
women  of  this  actual  England.  We  are  yet  very  far  from 
an  answer,  and  there  will  be  no  existence  for  us  without  find- 
ing one.  "  A  fair  day's-wages  for  a  fair  day's-work  :  "  it  is  as 
just  a  demand  as  Governed  men  ever  made  of  Governing.  It 
is  the  everlasting  right  of  man.  Indisputable  as  Gospels,  as 
arithmetical  multiplication-tables :  it  must  and  will  have  itself 
fulfilled ;  —  and  yet,  in  these  times  of  ours,  with  what  enor- 
mous difficulty,  next  door  to  impossibility  !  For  the  times  are 
really  strange ;  of  a  complexity  intricate  with  all  the  new 
width  of  the  ever-widening  world ;  times  here  of  half-frantic 
velocity  of  impetus,  there  of  the  deadest-looking  stillness 


20  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  I. 

paralysis  ;  times  definable  as  showing  two  qualities,  Dilettant- 
ism and  Majnmonism  ;  —  most  intricate  obstructed  times  ! 
Nay,  if  there  were  not  a  Heaven's  radiance  of  Justice,  pro- 
phetic, clearly  of  Heaven,  discernible  behind  all  these  confused 
world-wide  entanglements,  of  Landlord  interests,  Manufactur- 
ing interests,  Tory-Whig  interests,  and  who  knows  what  other 
interests,  expediencies,  vested  interests,  established  posses- 
sions, inveterate  Dilettantisms,  Midas-eared  Mammonisms, — 
it  would  seem  to  every  one  a  flat  impossibility,  which  all  wise 
men  might  as  well  at  once  abandon.  If  you  do  not  know 
eternal  Justice  from  momentary  Expediency,  and  understand 
in  your  heart  of  hearts  how  Justice,  radiant,  beneficent,  as  the 
all-victorious  Light-element,  is  also  in  essence,  if  need  be,  an 
ail-victorious  .Fire-element,  and  melts  all  manner  of  vested 
interests,  and  the  hardest  iron  cannon,  as  if  they  were  soft 
wax,  and  does  ever  in  the  long-run  rule  and  reign,  and  allows 
nothing  else  to  rule  and  reign,  —  you  also  would  talk  of  im- 
possibility !  But  it  is  only  difficult,  it  is  not  impossible. 
Possible  ?  It  is,  with  whatever  difficulty,  very  clearly  in- 
evitable. 

Fair  day's-wages  for  fair  day's-work !  exclaims  a  sarcastic 
man :  Alas,  in  what  corner  of  this  Planet,  since  Adam  first 
awoke  on  it,  was  that  ever  realized  '!  The  day's-wages  of 
John  Milton's  day's-work,  named  Paradise  Lost  and  Milton  s 
Works,  were  Ten  Pounds  paid  by  instalments,  and  a  rather 
close  escape  from  death  on  the  gallows.  Consider  that :  it  is 
no  rhetorical  flourish ;  it  is  an  authentic,  altogether  quiet  fact, 
—  emblematic,  quietly  documentary  of  a  whole  world  of  such, 
ever  since  human  history  began.  Oliver  Cromwell  quitted  his 
farming ;  undertook  a  Hercules'  Labor  and  lifelong  wrestle 
with  that  Lernean  Hydra-coil,  wide  as  England,  hissing  heaven- 
high  through  its  thousand  crowned,  coroneted,  shovel-hatted 
quack-heads  ;  and  he  did  wrestle  with  it,  the  truest  and  terri- 
blest  wrestle  I  have  heard  of ;  and  he  wrestled  it,  and  mowed 
and  cut  it  down  a  good  many  stages,  so  that  its  hissing  is  ever 
since  pitiful  in  comparison,  and  one  can  walk  abroad  in  com- 
parative peace  from  it ;  —  and  his  wages,  as  I  understand,  were 


CHAP.  III.  MANCHESTER  INSURRECTION.  21 

burial  under  the  gallows-tree  near  Tyburn  Turnpike,  with  his 
head  on  the  gable  of  Westminster  Hall,  and  two  centuries 
now  of  mixed  cursing  and  ridicule  from  all  manner  of  men. 
His  dust  lies  under  the  Edgware  Road,  near  Tyburn  Turnpike, 
at  this  hour  ;  and  his  memory  is  —  Nay  what  matters  what 
his  memory  is  ?  His  memory,  at  bottom,  is  or  yet  shall  be  as 
that  of  a  god :  a  terror  and  horror  to  all  quacks  and  cowards 
and  insincere  persons ;  an  everlasting  encouragement,  new 
memento,  battle- word,  and  pledge  of  victory  to  all  the  brave. 
It  is  the  natural  course  and  history  of  the  Godlike,  in  every 
place,  in  every  time.  What  god  ever  carried  it  with  the  Ten- 
pound  Franchisers ;  in  Open  Vestry,  or  with  any  Sanhedrim 
of  considerable  standing  ?  When  was  a  god  found  "  agree- 
able "  to  everybody  ?  The  regular  way  is  to  hang,  kill,  crucify 
your  gods,  and  execrate  and  trample  them  under  your  stupid 
hoofs  for  a  century  or  two ;  till  you  discover  that  they  are 
gods,  —  and  then  take  to  braying  over  them,  still  in  a  very 
long-eared  manner! — So  speaks  the  sarcastic  man;  in  his 
wild  way,  very  mournful  truths. 

Day's-wages  for  day's-work  ?  continues  he  :  The  Progress 
of  Human  Society  consists  even  in  this  same,  The  better  and 
better  apportioning  of  wages_to  work.  Give  me  this,  you  have 
given  me  all?  Pay  to  every  man  accurately  what  he  has  worked 
for,  what  he  has  earned  and  done  and  deserved,  —  to  this  man 
broad  lands  and  honors,  to  that  man  high  gibbets  and  tread- 
mills :  what  more  have  I  to  ask  ?  Heaven's  Kingdom,  which 
we  daily  pray  for,  has  come ;  God's  will  is  done  on  Earth  even 
as  it  is  in  Heaven  !  This  is  the  radiance  of  celestial  Justice  ; 
in  the  light  or  in  the  fire  of  which  all  impediments,  vested 
interests,  and  iron  cannon,  are  more  and  more  melting  like 
wax,  and  disappearing  from  the  pathways  of  men.  A  thing 
ever  struggling  forward ;  irrepressible,  advancing  inevitable  ; 
perfecting  itself,  all  days,  more  and  more,  —  never  to  be  per- 
fect till  that  general  Doomsday,  the  ultimate  Consummation, 
and  Last  of  earthly  Days. 

True,  as  to  "  perfection  "  and  so  forth,  answer  we ;  true 
enough !  And  yet  withal  we  have  to  remark,  that  imperfect 
Human  Society  holds  itself  together,  and  finds  place  under  the 


22  PAST   AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  I. 

Sun,  in  virtue  simply  of  some  approximation  to  perfection 
being  actually  made  and  put  in  practice.  We  remark  farther, 
that  there  are  supportable  approximations,  and  then  likewise 
insupportable.  With  some,  almost  with  any,  supportable  ap- 
proximation men  are  apt,  perhaps  too  apt,  to  rest  indolently 
patient,  and  say,  It  will  do.  Thus  these  poor  Manchester 
manual  workers  mean  only,  by  day's- wages  for  day's-work, 
certain  coins  of  money  adequate  to  keep  them  living;  —  in 
return  for  their  work,  such  modicum  of  food,  clothes  and  fuel 
as  will  enable  them  to  continue  their  work  itself !  They  as 
yet  clamar  -foi '  &&  ^nore;  the  rest,  still  inarticulate,  cannot 
yet  shape  itself  into  a  demand  at  all,  and  only  lies  in  them  as 
a  dumb  wish ;  perhaps  only,  still  more  inarticulate,  as  a  dumb, 
altogether  unconscious  want.  This  is  the  supportable  approxi- 
mation they  would  rest  patient  with,  That  by  their  work  they 
might  be  kept  alive  to  work  more  !  —  This  once  grown  unat- 
tainable, I  think  your  approximation  may  consider  itself  to 
have  reached  the  insupportable  stage ;  and  may  prepare,  with 
whatever  difficulty,  reluctance  and  astonishment,  for  one  of 
two  things,  for  changing  or  perishing!  With  the  millions 
no  longer  able  to  live,  how  can  the  units  keep  living  ?  It  is 
too  clear  the  Nation  itself  is  on  the  way  to  suicidal  death. 

Shall  we  say  then,  The  world  has  retrograded  in  its  talent 
of  apportioning  wages  to  work,  in  late  days  ?  The  world  had 
always  a  talent  of  that  sort,  better  or  worse.  Time  was  when ' 
the  mere  Aawrfworker  needed  not  announce  his  claim  to  the 
v  world  by  Manchester  Insurrections  !  —  The  world,  with  its 
Wealth  of  Nations,  Supply-and-demand  and  such  like,  has  of 
late  days  been  terribly  inattentive  to  that  question  of  work  and 
wages.  We  will  not  say,  the  poor  world  has  retrograded  even 
here  :  we  will  say  rather,  the  world  has  been  rushing  on  with 
such  fiery  animation  to  get  work  and  ever  more  work  done,  it 
has  had  no  time  to  think  of  dividing  the  wages;  and  has 
merely  left  them  to  be  scrambled  for  by  the  Law  of  the 
Stronger,  law  of  Supply-and-demand,  law  of  Laissez-faire,  and 
other  idle  Laws  and  Un-laws,  —  saying,  in  its  dire  haste  to  get 
the  work  done,  That  is  well  enough  ! 

And  now  the  world  will  have  to  pause  a  little,  and  take  up 


CHAP.  111.  MANCHESTER  INSURRECTION.  23 

that  other  side  of  the  problem,  and  in  right  earnest  strive  for 
some  solution  of  that.  For  it  has  become  pressing.  What  is 
the  use  of  your  spun  shirts  ?  They  hang  there  by  the  million 
unsalable ;  and  here,  by  the  million,  are  diligent  bare  backs 
that  can  get  no  hold  of  them.  Shirts  are  useful  for  covering 
human  backs ;  useless  otherwise,  an  unbearable  mockery  other- 
wise. You  have  fallen  terribly  behind  with  that  side  of  the 
problem  !y/Manchester  Insurrections,  French  Revolutions,  and 
thousand-fold  phenomena  great  and  small,  announce  loudly  that 
you  must  bring  it  forward  a  little  again.  Never  till  now,  in 
the  history  of  an  Earth  which  to  this  hour  nowhere  refuses  to 
grow  corn  if  you  will  plough  it,  to  yield  shirts  if  you  will  spin 
and  weave  in  it,  did  the  mere  manual  two-handed  worker 
(however  it  might  fare  with  other  workers)  cry  in  vain  for 
such  "  wages  "  as  he  means  by  "  fair  wages,''  namely  food  and 
warmth  !  The  Godlike  could  not  and  cannot  be  paid ;  but  the 
Earthly  always  could.  Gurth,  a  mere  swineherd,  born  thrall 
of  Cedric  the  Saxon,  tended  pigs  in  the  wood,  and  did  get  some 
parings  of  the  pork.  Why,  the  four-footed  worker  has  already 
got  all  that  this  two-handed  one  is  clamoring  for  !  How  often 
must  I  remind  you  ?  There  is  not  a  horse  in  England,  able 
and  willing  to  work,  but  has  due  food  and  lodging;  and  goes 
about  sleek-coated,  satisfied  in  heart.  And  you  say,  It  is  im- 
possible. Brothers,  I  answer,  if  for  you  it  be  impossible,  what 
is  to  become  of  you?  It  is  impossible  for  us  to  believe  it 
to  be  impossible.  The  human  brain,  looking  at  these  sleek 
English  horses,  refuses  to  believe  in  such  impossibility  for 
English  men.  Do  you  depart  quickly ;  clear  the  ways  soon, 
lest  worse  befall.  We  for  our  share  do  purpose,  with  full 
view  of  the  enormous  difficulty,  with  total  disbelief  in  the 
impossibility,  to  endeavor  while  life  is  in  us,  and  to  die  en- 
deavoring, we  and  our  sons,  till  we  attain  it  or  have  all  died 
and  ended.  Y 

Such  a  Platitude  of  a  World,  in  which  all  working  horses 
could  be  well  fed,  and  innumerable  working  men  should  die 
starved,  were  it  not  best  to  end  it;  to  have  done  with  it,  and 
restore  it  once  for  all  to  the  Jiitvns,  Mud-giants,  Frost-giants, 
and  Chaotic  Brute-gods  of  the  Beginning  ?  For  the  old  An- 


24  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  I. 

archie  Brute-gods  it  may  be  well  enough ;  but  it  is  a  Platitude 
which  Men  should  be  above  countenancing  by  their  presence 
in  it.  We  pray  you,  let  the  word  impossible  disappear  from 
your  vocabulary  in  this  matter.  It  is  of  awful  omen ;  to  all  of 
us,  and  to  yourselves  first  of  all. 


CHAPTER   IV. 
MORRISON'S  PILL. 

WHAT  is  to  be  done,  what  would  you  have  us  do  ?  asks 
many  a  one,  with  a  tone  of  impatience,  almost  of  reproach ; 
and  then,  if  you  mention  some  one  thing,  some  two  things, 
twenty  things  that  might  be  done,  turns  round  with  a  satirical 
tehee,  and,  "  These  are  your  remedies ! "  The  state  of  mind 
indicated  by  such  question,  and  such  rejoinder,  is  worth  re- 
flecting on. 

It  seems  to  be  taken  for  granted,  by  these  interrogative 
philosophers,  that  there  is  some  "thing,"  or  handful  of 
"  things,"  which  could  be  done ;  some  Act  of  Parliament, 
"  remedial  measure "  or  the  like,  which  could  be  passed, 
whereby  the  social  malady  were  fairly  fronted,  conquered, 
put  an  end  to ;  so  that,  with  your  remedial  measure  in  your 
pocket,  you  could  then  go  on  triumphant,  and  be  troubled  no 
farther.  "  You  tell  us  the  evil,"  cry  such  persons,  as  if  justly 
aggrieved,  "  and  do  not  tell  us  how  it  is  to  be  cured  !  " 

How  it  is  to  be  cured  ?  Brothers,  I  am  sorry  I  have  got  no 
Morrison's  Pill  for  curing  the  maladies  of  Society.  It  were 
infinitely  handier  if  we  had  a  Morrison's  Pill,  Act  of  Parlia- 
ment, or  remedial  measure,  which  men  could  swallow,  one  good 
time,  and  then  go  on  in  their  old  courses,  cleared  from  all 
miseries  and  mischiefs  !  Unluckily  we  have  none  such ;  un- 
luckily the  Heavens  themselves,  in  their  rich  pharmacopoeia, 
contain  none  such.  There  will  no  "  thing  "  be  done  that  will 
cure  you.  There  will  a  radical  universal  alteration  of  your 
regimen  and  way  of  life  take  place ;  there  will  a  most  agoniz- 


CHAP.  IV.  MORRISON'S  PILL.  25 

iug  divorce  between  you  and  your  chimeras,  luxuries  and  falsi- 
ties, take  place ;  a  most  toilsome,  all  but  "  impossible  "  return 
to  Nature,  and  her  veracities  and  her  integrities,  take  place : 
that  so  the  inner  fountains  of  life  may  again  begin,  like  eter- 
nal Light-fountains,  to  irradiate  and  purify  your  bloated, 
swollen,  foul  existence,  drawing  nigh,  as  at  present,  to  name- 
less death !  Either  death,  or  else  all  this  will  take  place. 
Judge  if,  with  such  diagnosis,  any  Morrison's  Pill  is  like  to  be 
discoverable  ! 

But  the  Life-fountain  within  you  once  again  set  flowing, 
what  innumerable  "  things,"  whole  sets  and  classes  and  conti- 
nents of  "  things,"  year  after  year,  and  decade  after  decade, 
and  century  after  century,  will  then  be  doable  and  done  !  Not 
Emigration,  Education,  Corn-Law  Abrogation,  Sanitary  Regu- 
lation, Land  Property -Tax ;  not  these  alone,  nor  a  thousand 
times  as  much  as  these.  Good  Heavens,  there  will  then  be 
light  in  the  inner  heart  of  here  and  there  a  man,  to  discern 
what  is  just,  what  is  commanded  by  the  Most  High  God,  what 
must  be  done,  were  it  never  so  "impossible."  Vain_>[arg_oiiJn 
favor  of  the  palpably  unjust  will  then  abridge  itself  within 
limits.  Vain  jargon,  on  Hustings,  in  Parliaments  or  wher- 
ever else,  when  here  and  there  a  man  has  vision  for  the  essen- 
tial God's-Truth  of  the  things  jargoned  of,  will  become  very 
vain  indeed.  The  silence  of  here  and  there  such  a  man,  how 
eloquent  in  answer  to  such  jargon !  Such  jargon,  frightened 
at  its  own  gaunt  echo,  will  unspeakably  abate ;  nay,  for  a  while, 
may  almost  in  a  manner  disappear,  —  the  wise  answering  it  in 
silence,  and  even  the  simple  taking  cue  from  them  to  hoot  it 
down  wherever  heard.  It  will  be  a  blessed  time ;  and  many 
"  things  "  will  become  doable,  —  and  when  the  brains  are  out, 
an  absurdity  will  die !  Not  easily  again  shall  a  Corn-Law 
argue  ten  years  for  itself;  and  still  talk  and  argue,  when  im- 
partial persons  have  to  say  with  a  sigh  that,  for  so  long  back, 
they  have  heard  no  "  argument "  advanced  for  it  but  such  as 
might  make  the  angels  and  almost  the  very  jackasses  weep ! 

Wholly  a  blessed  time  :  when  jargon  might  abate,  and  here 
and  there  some  genuine  speech  begin.  When  to  the  noble 
opened  heart,  as  to  such  heart  they  alone  do,  all  noble  things 


26  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  I. 

began  to  grow  visible ;  and  the  difference  between  just  and 
unjust,  between  true  and  false,  between  work  and  sham-work, 
between  speech  and  jargon,  was  once  more,  what  to  our  happier 
Fathers  it  used  to  be,  infinite,  —  as  between  a  Heavenly  thing 
and  an  Infernal :  the  one  a  thing  which  you  were  not  to  do, 
which  you  were  wise  not  to  attempt  doing;  which  it  were 
better  for  you  to  have  a  millstone  tied  round  your  neck,  and 
be  cast  into  the  sea,  than  concern  yourself  with  doing!  — 
Brothers,  it  will  not  be  a  Morrison's  Fill,  or  remedial  measure, 
that  will  bring  all  this  about  for  us. 

And  yet,  very  literally,  till,  in  some  shape  or  other,  it  be 
brought  about,  we  remain  cureless ;  till  it  begin  to  be  brought 
about,  the  cure  does  not  begin.  For  Nature  and  Fact,  not 
Red-tape  and  Semblance,  are  to  this  hour  the  basis  of  man's 
life ;  and  on  those,  through  never  such  strata  of  these,  man 
and  his  life  and  all  his  interests  do,  sooner  or  later,  infallibly 
come  to  rest,  —  and  to  be  supported  or  be  swallowed  according 
as  they  agree  with  those.  The  question  is  asked  of  them,  not, 
How  do  you  agree  with  Downing  Street  and  accredited  Sem- 
blance ?  but,  How  do  you  agree  with  God's  Universe  and  the 
actual  Keality  of  things  ?  This  Universe  has  its  Laws.  If 
we  walk  according  to  the  Law,  the  Law-Maker  will  befriend 
us;  if  not,  not.  Alas,  by  no  Reform  Bill,  Ballot-box,  Five- 
point  Charter,  by  no  boxes  or  bills  or  charters,  can  you  per- 
form this  alchemy  :  "  Given  a  world  of  Knaves,  to  produce  an 
Honesty  from  their  united  action !  "  It  is  a  distillation,  once 
for  all,  not  possible.  You  pass  it  through  alembic  after 
alembic,  it  comes  out  still  a  Dishonesty,  with  a  new  dress  on 
it,  a  new  color  to  it.  "While  we  ourselves  continue  valets, 
how  can  any  hero  come  to  govern  us  ?  "  We  are  governed, 
very  infallibly,  by  the  "  sham-hero,"  —  whose  name  is  Quack, 
whose  work  and  governance  is  Plausibility,  and  also  is  Falsity 
and  Fatuity ;  to  which  Nature  says,  and  must  say  when  it 
comes  to  her  to  speak,  eternally  No !  Nations  cease  to  be 
befriended  of  the  Law-Maker,  when  they  walk  not  according 
to  the  Law.  The  Sphinx-question  remains  unsolved  by  them, 
becomes  ever  more  insoluble. 


CHAP.  IV.  MORRISON'S   PILL.  2T 

If  thou  ask  again,  therefore,  on  the  Morrison's-Pill  hypothe- 
sis, What  is  to  be  done  ?  allow  me  to  reply  :  By  thee,  for 
the  present,  almost  nothing.  Thou  there,  the  thing  for  thee 
to  do  is,  if  possible,  to  cease  to  be  a  hollow  sounding-shell  of 
hearsays,  egoisms,  purblind  dilettantisms ;  and  become,  were 
it  on  the  infinitely  small  scale,  a  faithful  discerning  soul. 
Thou  shalt  descend  into  thy  inner  man,  and  see  if  there  be 
any  traces  of  a  soul  there ;  till  then  there  can  be  nothing  done  ! 
0  brother,  we  must  if  possible  resuscitate  some  soul  and  con- 
science in  us,  exchange  our  dilettantisms  for  sincerities,  our 
dead  hearts  of  stone  for  living  hearts  of  flesh.  Then  shall  we 
discern,  not  one  thing,  but,  in  clearer  or  dimmer  sequence,  a 
whole  endless  host  of  things  that  can  be  done.  Do  the  first 
of  these ;  do  it ;  the  second  will  already  have  become  clearer, 
doabler;  the  second,  third  and  three-thousandth  will  then 
have  begun  to  be  possible  for  us.  Not  any  universal  Morri- 
son's Pill  shall  we  then,  either  as  swallowers  or  as  venders, 
ask  after  at  all ;  but  a  far  different  sort  of  remedies  :  Quacks 
shall  no  more  have  dominion  over  us,  but  true  Heroes  and 
Healers  ! 

Will  not  that  be  a  thing  worthy  of  "doing; "  to  deliver  our- 
selves from  quacks,  sham-heroes ;  to  deliver  the  whole  world 
more  and  more  from  such  ?  They  are  the  one  bane  of  the 
world.  Once  clear  the  world  of  them,  it  ceases  to  be  a  Devil's- 
world,  in  all  fibres  of  it  wretched,  accursed  ;  and  begins  to  be 
a  God's-world,  blessed,  and  working  hourly  towards  blessed- 
ness. Thou  for  one  wilt  not  again  vote  for  any  quack,  do 
honor  to  any  edge-gilt  vacuity  in  man's  shape  :  cant  shall  be 
known  to  thee  by  the  sound  of  it; — thou  wilt  fly  from  cant 
with  a  shudder  never  felt  before ;  as  from  the  opened  Mtany 
of  Sorcerers'  Sabbaths,  the  true  Devil-worship  of  this  age, 
more  horrible  than  any  other  blasphemy,  profanity  or  genuine 
blackgxiardism  elsewhere  audible  among  men.  It  is  alarming 
to  witness,  —  in  its  present  completed  state  !  And  Quack  and 
Dupe,  as  we  must  ever  keep  in  mind,  are  upper  side  and  under 
of  the  self-same  substance ;  convertible  personages :  turn  up 
your  dupe  into  the  proper  fosterirg  element,  ajid  he  himself 


28  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  i. 

can  become  a  quack ;  there  is  in  him  the  due  prurient  insin- 
cerity, open  voracity  for  profit,  and  closed  sense  for  truth, 
whereof  quacks  too,  in  all  their  kinds,  are  made. 

Alas,  it  is  not  to  the  hero,  it  is  to  the  sham-hero,  that,  of 
right  and  necessity,  the  valet-world  belongs.  "  What  is  to  be 
done  ?  "  The  reader  sees  whether  it  is  like  to  be  the  seeking 
and  swallowing  of  some  "  remedial  measure  "  ! 


CHAPTER  V. 

<  ARISTOCRACY    OF    TALENT. 

WHEN  an  individual  is  miserable,  what  does  it  most  of  all 
behoove  him  to  do  ?  To  complain  of  this  man  or  of  that,  of 
this  thing  or  of  that  ?  To  fill  the  world  and  the  street  with 
lamentation,  objurgation  ?  Not  so  at  all ;  the  reverse  of  so. 
All  moralists  advise  him  not  to  complain  of  any  person  or  of 
any  thing,  but  of  himself  only.  He  is  to  know  of  a  truth  that 
being  miserable  he  has  been  unwise,  he.  Had  he  faithfully 
followed  Nature  and  her  Laws,  Nature,  ever  true  to  her  Laws, 
would  have  yielded  fruit  and  increase  and  felicity  to  him : 
but  he  has  followed  other  than  Nature's  Laws ;  and  now  Na- 
ture, her  patience  with  him  being  ended,  leaves  him  desolate  ; 
answers  with  very  emphatic  significance  to  him  :  No.  Not  by 
this  road,  my  son ;  by  another  road  shalt  thou  attain  well- 
being  :  this,  thou  perceivest,  is  the  road  to  ill-being ;  quit  this ! 
—  So  do  all  moralists  advise :  that  the  man  penitently  say  to 
himself  first  of  all,  Behold  I  was  not  wise  enough ;  I  quitted 
the  laws  of  Fact,  which  are  also  called  the  Laws  of  God,  and 
mistook  for  them  the  Laws  of  Sham  and  Semblance,  which  are 
called  the  Devil's  Laws ;  therefore  am  I  here  ! 

Neither  with  Nations  that  become  miserable  is  it  funda- 
mentally otherwise.  The  ancient  guides  of  Nations,  Prophets, 
Priests,  or  whatever  their  name,  were  well  aware  of  this ;  and, 
down  to  a  late  epoch,  impressively  taught  and  inculcated  it, 


CHAP.  V  ARISTOCRACY  OF  TALENT.  29 

The  modern  guides  of  Nations,  who  also  go  under  a  great 
variety  of  names,  Journalists,  Political  Economists,  Politicians, 
Pamphleteers,  have  entirely  forgotten  this,  and  are  ready  to 
deny  this.  But  it  nevertheless  remains  eternally  undeniable  : 
nor  is  there  any  doubt  but  we  shall  all  be  taught  it  yet,  and 
made  again  to  confess  it :  we  shall  all  be  striped  and  scourged 
till  we  do  learn  it ;  and  shall  at  last  either  get  to  know  it,  or  be 
striped  to  death  in  the  process.  For  it  is  undeniable  !  When 
a  Nation  is  unhappy,  the  old  Prophet  was  right  and  not  wrong 
in  saying  to  it :  Ye  have  forgotten  God,  ye  have  quitted  the 
ways  of  God,  or  ye  would  not  have  been  unhappy.  It  is  not 
according  to  the  laws  of  Fact  that  ye  have  lived  and  guided 
yourselves,  but  according  to  the  laws  of  Delusion,  Imposture, 
and  wilful  and  unwilful  Mistake  of  Fact ;  behold  therefore  the 
Unveracity  is  worn  out ;  Nature's  long-suffering  with  you  is 
exhausted ;  and  ye  are  here  ! 

Surely  there  is  nothing  very  inconceivable  in  this,  even  to 
the  Journalist,  to  the  Political  Economist,  Modern  Pamphlet- 
eer, or  any  two-legged  animal  without  feathers  !  If  a  country 
finds  itself  wretched,  sure  enough  that  country  has  been  mis- 
guided :  it  is  with  the  wretched  Twenty -seven  Millions,  fallen 
wretched,  as  with  the  Unit  fallen  wretched :  they,  as  he,  have 
quitted  the  course  prescribed  by  Nature  and  the  Supreme 
Powers,  and  so  are  fallen  into  scarcity,  disaster,  infelicity; 
and  pausing  to  consider  themselves,  have  to  lament  and  say : 
Alas,  we  were  not  wise  enough !  We  took  transient  superfi- 
cial Se.mbla.nce  fQr._ev.exlasting  central  Substance;  we  have 
departed  far  away  from  the  Laws  of  this  Uiuyersejjand  behold 
now  lawless  Chaos  and  inane  Chirnera_is  ready  to  devour  us  ! 
—  "Nature  in  late  centuries,"  says  Sauerteig,  "  was  universally 
supposed  to  be  dead ;  an  old  eight-day  clock,  made  many  thou- 
sand years  ago,  and  still  ticking,  but  dead  as  brass,  —  which 
the  Maker,  at  most,  sat  looking  at,  in  a  distant,  singular  and 
indeed  incredible  manner :  but  now  I  am  happy  to  observe, 
she  is  everywhere  asserting  herself  to  be  not  dead  and  brass 
at  all,  but  alive  and  miraculous,  celestial-infernal,  with  an  em- 
phasis that  will  again  penetrate  the  thickest  head  of  this 
Planet  by  and  by ! "  — 


30  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  I. 

Indisputable  enough  to  all  mortals  now,  the  guidance  of  this 
country  has  not  been  sufficiently  wise ;  men  too  foolish  have 
been  set  to  the  guiding  and  governing  of  it,  and  have  guided 
it  hither  ;  we  must  h'nd  wiser,  —  wiser,  or  else  we  perish  !  To 
this  length  of  insight  all  England  has  now  advanced ;  but  as 
vet  no  farther.  All  England  stands  wringing  its  hands,  ask- 
..jg  itself,  nigh  desperate,  What  farther?  Reform  Bill  proves 
to  be  a  failure;  Benthamee  Radicalism,  the  gospel  of  "En- 
lightened Selfishness,"  dies  out,  or  dwindles  into  Five-point 
Chartism,  amid  the  tears  and  hootings  of  men :  what  next  are 
we  to  hope  or  try  ?  Five-point  Charter,  Free-trade,  Church- 
extension,  Sliding-scale ;  what,  in  Heaven's  name,  are  we  next 
to  attempt,  that  we  sink  not  in  inane  Chimera,  and  be  devoured 
of  Chaos  ? —  The  case  is  pressing,  and  one  of  the  most  com- 
plicated in  the  world.  A  God's-message  never  came  to  thicker- 
skinned  people  ;  never  had  a  God's-message  to  pierce  through 
thicker  integuments,  into  heavier  ears.  It  is  Fact,  speaking 
once  more,  in  miraculous  thunder- voice,  from  out  of  the  centre 
of  the  world ;  —  how  unknown  its  language  to  the  deaf  and 
foolish  many ;  how  distinct,  undeniable,  terrible  and  yet  benefi- 
cent, to  the  hearing  few :  Behold,  ye  shall  grow  wiser,  or  ye 
shall  die  !  Truer  to  Nature's  Fact,  or  inane  Chimera  will  swal- 
low you;  in  whirlwinds  of  fire,  you  and  your  Mammonisms, 
Dilettantisms,  your  Midas-eared  philosophies,  double-barrelled 
Aristocracies,  shall  disappear  !  —  Such  is  the  God's-message  to 
us,  once  more,  in  these  modern  days. 

We  must  have  more  Wisdom  to  govern  us,  we  must  be 
governed  by  the  Wisest,  we  must  have  an  Aristocracy  of 
Talent !  cry  many.  True,  most  true  ;  but  how  to  get  it  ?  Tljo 
following  extract  from  our  young  friend  of  the  Houndsditth' 
Indicator  is  worth  perusing  :  "  At  this  time,"  says  he,  "  while 
there  is  a  cry  everywhere,  articulate  or  inarticulate,  for  an 
'Aristocracy  of  Talent,'  a  Governing  Class  namely  which  did 
govern,  not  merely  which  took  the  wages  of  governing,  and 
could  not  with  all  our  industry  be  kept  from  misgoverning, 
corn-lawing,  and  playing  the  very  deuce  with  us,  —  it  may  not 
be  altogether  useless  to  remind  some  of  the  greener-headed 
sort  what  a  dreadfully  difficult  affair  the  getting  of  such  an 


CHAP.  V.  ARISTOCRACY  OF  TALENT.  31 

Aristocracy  is !  Do  you  expect,  my  friends,  that  your  indis- 
pensable Aristocracy  of  Talent  is  to  be  enlisted  straightway, 
by  some  sort  of  recruitment  aforethought,  out  of  the  general 
population  ;  arranged. in  supreme  regimental  order;  and  set  to 
rule  over  us  ?  That  it  will  be  got  sifted,  like  wheat  out  of 
chaff,  from  the  Twenty-seven  Million  British  subjects ;  that 
any  Ballot-box,  Reform  Bill,  or  other  Political  Machine,  with 
Force  of  Public  Opinion  never  so  active  on  it,  is  likely  to  per- 
form said  process  of  sifting  ?  Would  to  Heaven  that  we  had 
a  sieve ;  that  we  could  so  much  as  fancy  any  kind  of  sieve, 
wind-fanners,  or  ne-plus-ultra  of  machinery,  devisable  by  man, 
that  would  do  it ! 

"Done  nevertheless,  sure  enough,  it  must  be;  it  shall  and 
will  be.  We  are  rushing  swiftly  on  the  road  to  destruction : 
every  hour  bringing  us  nearer,  until  it  be,  in  some  measure, 
done.  The  doing  of  it  is  not  doubtful ;  only  the  method  and 
the  costs !  Nay  I  will  even  mention  to  you  an  infallible  sift- 
ing-propess  whereby  he  that  has  ability  will  be  sifted  out  to 
rule  among  us,  and  that  same  blessed  Aristocracy  of  Talent 
be  verily,  in  an  approximate  degree,  vouchsafed  us  by  and  by : 
an  infallible  sifting-process ;  to  which,  however,  no  soul  can  help 
his  neighbor,  but  each  must,  with  devout  prayer  to  Heaven, 
endeavor  to  help  himself.  It  is,  0  friends,  that  all  of  us,  that 
many  of  us,  should  acquire  the  true  eye  for  talent,  which  is 
dreadfully  wanting  at  present !  The  true  eye  for  talent  pre- 
supposes the  true  reverence  for  it,  —  0  Heavens,  presupposes 
so  many  things ! 

"For  example,  you  Bobus  Higgins,  Sausage-maker  on  the 
great  scale,  who  are  raising  such  a  clamor  for  this  Aris- 
tocracy of  Talent,  what  is  it  that  you  do,  in  that  big  heart 
of  yours,  chiefly  in  very  fact  pay  reverence  to  ?  Is  it  to  talent, 
intrinsic  manly  worth  of  any  kind,  you  unfortunate  Bobus? 
The  manliest  man  that  you  saw  going  in  a  ragged  coat,  did 
you  ever  reverence  him ;  did  you  so  much  as  know  that  he  was 
a  manly  man  at  all,  till  his  coat  grew  better  ?  Talent !  I 
understand  you  to  be  able  to  worship  the  fame  of  talent,  the 
power,  cash,  celebrity  or  other  success  of  talent ;  but  the  talent 
itself  is  a  thing  you  never  saw  with  eyes.  Nay  what  is  it  in 


32  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  I. 

yourself  that  you  are  proudest  of,  that  you  take  most  pleasure 
in  surveying  meditatively  in  thoughtful  moments  ?  Speak  now, 
is  it  the  bare  Bobus  stript  of  his  very  name  and  shirt,  and 
turned  loose  upon  society,  that  you  admire  and  thank  Heaven 
for ;  or  Bobus  with  his  cash-accounts  and  larders  dropping  fat- 
ness, with  his  respectabilities,  warm  garnitures,  and  pony- 
chaise,  admirable  in  some  measure  to  certain  of  the  flunky 
species  ?  Your  own  degree  of  worth  and  talent,  is  it  of  infinite 
value  to  you;  or  only  of  finite,  —  measurable  by  the  degree 
of  currency,  and  conquest  of  praise  or  pudding,  it  has  brought 
you  to  ?  Bobus,  you  are  in  a  vicious  circle,  rounder  than  one  of 
your  own  sausages ;  and  will  never  vote  for  or  promote  any 
talent,  except  what  talent  or  sham-talent  has  already  got  itself 
voted  for!"  —  We  here  cut  short  the  Indicator;  all  readers 
perceiving  whither  he  now  tends. 

"  More  Wisdom  "  indeed  :  but  where  to  find  more  Wisdom  ? 
We  have  already  a  Collective  Wisdom,  after  its  kind,  —  though 
"class-legislation,"  and  another  thing  or  two,  affect  it  some- 
what !  On  the  whole,  as  they  say,  Like  people  like  priest ; 
so  we  may  say,  Like  people  like  king.  The  man  gets  himself 
appointed  and  elected  who  is  ablest  —  to  be  appointed  and 
elected.  What  can  the  incorruptiblest  Boluses  elect,  if  it  be 
not  some  Bobissimus,  should  they  find  such  ? 

Or  again,  perhaps  there  is  not,  in  the  whole  Nation,  Wisdom 
enouglj,  " collect"  it  as  we  may,  to  make  an  adequate  Col- 
lective! That  too  is  a  case  which  may  befall:  a  ruined  man 
staggers  down  to  ruin  because  there  was  not  wisdom  enough 
in  him ;  so,  clearly  also,  may  Twenty-seven  Million  collective 
men  !  —  But  indeed  one  of  the  infalliblest  fruits  of  Unwisdom 
in  a  Nation  is  that  it  cannot  get  the  use  of  what  Wisdom  is 
actually  in  it :  that  it  is  not  governed  by  the  wisest  it  has, 
who  alone  have  a  divine  right  to  govern  in  all  Nations ;  but 
by  the  sham-wisest,  or  even  by  the  openly  not-so-wise  if  they 
are  handiest  otherwise  !  This  is  the  infalliblest  result  of 
Unwisdom;  and  also  the  balefulest,  immeasurablest,  —  not  so 
much  what  we  can  call  a  poison-/wiV,  as  a  universal  death- 
disease,  and  poisoning  of  the  whole  tree.  For  hereby  are 


CHAP.  V.  ARISTOCRACY   OF  TALENT. 

fostered,  fed  into  gigantic  bulk,  all  manner  of  Unwisdoms, 
poison-fruits ;  till,  as  we  say,  the  life-tree  everywhere  is  made 
a  upas-tree,  deadly  Unwisdom  overshadowing  all  things ;  and 
there  is  done  what  lies  in  human  skill  to  stifle  all  Wisdom 
everywhere  in  the  birth,  to  smite  our  poor  world  barren  of 
Wisdom,  —  and  make  your  utmost  Collective  Wisdom,  were 
it  collected  and  elected  by  Rhadamanthus,  ^Eacus  and  Minos, 
not  to  speak  of  drunken  Tenpound  Franchisers  with  their 
ballot-boxes,  an  inadequate  Collective !  The  Wisdom  is  not 
now  there :  how  will  you  "  collect "  it  ?  As  well  wash  Thames 
mud,  by  improved  methods,  to  find  more  gold  in  it. 

Truly,  the  first  condition  is  indispensable,  That  Wisdom  be 
there :  but  the  second  is  like  unto  it,  is  properly  one  with  it; 
these  two  conditions  act  and  react  through  every  fibre  of  them, 
and  go  inseparably  together.  If  you  have  much  Wisdom  in 
your  Nation,  you  will  get  it  faithfully  collected ;  for  the  wise 
love  Wisdom,  and  will  search  for  it  as  for  life  and  salvation. 
If  you  have  little  Wisdom,  you  will  get  even  that  little  ill- 
collected,  trampled  under  foot,  reduced  as  near  as  possible  to 
annihilation ;  for  fools  do  not  love  Wisdom ;  they  are  foolish, 
first  of  all,  because  they  have  never  loved  Wisdom,  —  but  have 
loved  their  own  appetites,  ambitions,  their  coroneted  coaches, 
tankards  of  heavy-wet.  Thus  is  your  candle  lighted  at  both 
ends,  and  the  progress  towards  consummation  is  swift.  Thus 
is  fulfilled  that  saying  in  the  Gospel :  To  him  that  hath  shall 
be  given;  and  from  him  that  hath  not  shall  be  taken  away 
even  that  which  he  hath.  Very  literally,  in  a  very  fatal 
manner,  that  saying  is  here  fulfilled. 

Our  "  Aristocracy  of  Talent "  seems  at  a  considerable  dis- 
tance yet ;  does  it  not,  0  Bobus  ? 


TOL.   XII. 


34  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  I 


CHAPTER  VI. 

HERO-WORSHIP. 

To  the  present  Editor,  not  less  than  to  Bobus,  a  Govern- 
ment of  the  Wisest,  what  Bobus  calls  an  Aristocracy  of  Talent, 
seems  the  one  healing  remedy :  but  he  is  not  so  sanguine  as 
Bobus  with  respect  to  the  means  of  realizing  it.  He  thinks 
that  we  have  at  once  missed  realizing  it,  and  come  to  need  it 
so  pressingly,  by  departing  far  from  the  inner  eternal  Laws, 
and  taking  up  with  the  temporary  outer  semblances  of  Laws. 
He  thinks  that  "  enlightened  Egoism,"  never  so  luminous,  is 
not  the  rule  by  which  man's  life  can  be  led.  That  "  Laissez- 
faire,"  "  Supply-and-demand,"  "  Cash  payment  for  the  sole 
nexus,"  and  so  forth,  were  not,  are  not  and  will  never  be,  a 
practicable  Law  of  Union  for  a  Society  of  Men.  That  Poor 
and  Rich,  that  Governed  and  Governing,  cannot  long  live 
together  on  any  such  Law  of  Union.  Alas,  he  thinks  that 
man  has  a  soul  in  him,  different  from  the  stomach  in  any 
sense  of  this  word;  that  if  said  soul  be  asphyxied,  and  lie 
quietly  forgotten,  the  man  and  his  affairs  are  in  a  bad  way. 
He  thinks  that  said  soul  will  have  to  be  resuscitated  from  its 
asphyxia ;  that  if  it  prove  irresuscitable,  the  man  is  not  long 
for  this  world.  In  brief,  that  Midas-eared  Mammonism,  double- 
barrelled  Dilettantism,  and  their  thousand  adjuncts  and  corol- 
laries, are  not  the  Law  by  which  God  Almighty  has  appointed 
this  his  Universe  to  go.  That,  once  for  all,  these  are  not  the 
Law  :  and  then  farther  that  we  shall  have  to  return  to  what 
is  the  Law, — not  by  smooth  flowery  paths,  it  is  like,  and  with 
"  tremendous  cheers  "  in  our  throat ;  but  over  steep  untrodden 
places,  through  storm-clad  chasms,  waste  oceans,  and  the  bosom 
of  tornadoes  ;  thank  Heaven,  if  not  through  very  Chaos  and 
the  Abyss  !  The  resuscitating  of  a  soul  that  has  gone  U' 
asphyxia  is  no  momentary  or  pleasant  process,  but  a  long 
and  terrible  one. 


CHAP.  VI.  HERO-WORSHIP.  35 

To  the  present  Editor,  "  Hero-worship,"  as  he  has  elsewhere 
named  it,  means  much  more  than  an  elected  Parliament,  or 
stated  Aristocrat}-,  of  the  Wisest ;  for  in  his  dialect  it  is  the  ( 
summary,  ultimate  essence,  and  supreme  practical  perfection 
of  all  manner  of  "  worship,"  and  true  worthships  and  noble- 
nesses whatsoever.  Such  blessed  Parliament  and,  were  it  once 
in  perfection,  blessed  Aristocracy  of  the  Wisest,  god-honored 
and  man-honored,  he  does  look  for,  more  and  more  perfected,  — 
as  the  topmost  blessed  practical  apex  of  a  whole  world  reformed 
from  sham-worship,  informed  anew  with  worship,  with  truth 
and  blessedness  !  He  thinks  that  Hero-worship,  done  differ- 
ently in  every  different  epoch  of  the  world,  is  the  soul  of  all 
social  business  among  men ;  that  the  doing  of  it  well,  or  the 
doing  of  it  ill,  measures  accurately  what  degree  of  well- 
being  or  of  ill-being  there  is  in  the  world's  affairs.  He 
thinks  that  we,  on  the  whole,  do  our  Hero-worship  worse  than 
any  Nation  in  this  world  ever  did  it  before :  that  the  BurnB 
an  Exciseman,  the  Byron  a  Literary  Lion,  are  intrinsically, 
all  things  considered,  a  baser  and  falser  phenomenon  than 
the  Odin  a  God,  the  Mahomet  a  Prophet  of  God.  It  is  thia 
Editor's  clear  opinion,  accordingly,  that  we  must  learn  to  do 
our  Hero-worship  better ;  that  to  do  it  better  and  better, 
means  the  awakening  of  the  Nation's  soul  from  its  asphyxia, 
and  the  return  of  blessed  life  to  us,  —  Heaven's  blessed  lif s, 
not  Mammon's  galvanic  accursed  one.  To  resuscitate  the 
Asphyxied,  apparently  now  moribund  and  in  the  last  agony 
if  not  resuscitated  :  such  and  no  other  seems  the  consum- 
mation. 

"Hero-worship,"  if  you  will,  —  yes,  friends;  but,  first  of 
all,  by  being  ourselves  of  heroic  mind.  A  whole  world  of 
Heroes;  a  world  not  of  Flunkies,  where  no  Hero-King  can 
reign  :  that  is  what  we  aim  at !  We,  for  our  share,  will  put 
away  all  Flunkyism,  Baseness,  Unveracity  from  us ;  we  shall 
then  hope  to  have  Noblenesses  and  Veracities  set  over  us ;  nevei 
till  then.  Let  Bobus  and  Company  sneer,  "  That  is  your  Be 
form  !  "  YeSy-Eobus^  that  is  our  Reform  ;  and  except  in  that 
and  what  will  follow  out  of  that,  we  have  no  hope  at  all. 
Reform,  like  Charity,  0  Bobus,  must  begin  at  home.  Once 


36  •     PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  l. 

well  at  home,  how  will  it  radiate  outwards,  irrepressible,  into 
all  that  we  touch  and  handle,  speak  and  work ;  kindling  ever 
new  light,  by  incalculable  contagion,  spreading  in  geometric 
ratio,  far  and  wide,  —  doing  good  only,  wheresoever  it  spreads, 
and  not  evil. 

By  Reform  Bills,  Anti-Corn-Law  Bills,  and  thousand  other 
bills  and  methods,  we  will  demand  of  our  Governors,  with 
emphasis,  and  for  the  first  time  not  without  effect,  that  they 
cease  to  be  quacks,  or  else  depart ;  that  they  set  no  quackeries 
and  blocklieadismg  auywher.e_jto  rule  over  us,  that  they  utter 
or_acjb_n£  caut_  tp  us,  —  it  will  be  better  if  they  do  not.  For 
we  shall  now  know  quacks  when  we  see  them ;  cant,  when  we 
hear  it,  shall  be  horrible  to  us !  We  will  say,  with  the  poor 
Frenchman  at  the  Bar  of  the  Convention,  though  in  wiser 
style  than  he,  and  "  for  the  space  "  not  "  of  an  hour  "  but  of  a 
lifetime:  "Je  demands  I 'arrestation  des  corjuins  et  des  laches" 
"  Arrestment  of  the  knaves  and  dastards  :  "  ah,  we  know  what 
a  work  that  is ;  how  long  it  will  be  before  they  are  all  or 
mostly  got  "  arrested :  "  —  but  here  is  one ;  arrest  him,  in 
God's  name;  it  is  one  fewer!  We  will,  in  all  practicable 
ways,  by  word  and  silence,  by  act  and  refusal  to  act,  ener 
getically  demand  that  arrestment,  —  "je  demande  cette  arresta- 
tion-laf"  —  and  by  degrees  infallibly  attain  it.  Infallibly: 
for  light  spreads ;  all  human  souls,  never  so  bedarkened,  love 
light;  light  once  kindled  spreads,  till  all  is  luminous;  —  till 
the  cry,  "  Arrest  your  knaves  and  dastards  "  rises  imperative 
from  millions  of  hearts,  and  rings  and  reigns  from  sea  to  sea. 
Nay  how  many  of  them  may  we  not  "arrest;  "  with  our  own 
hands,  even  now;  we  !  Do  not  countenance  them,  thou  there: 
turn  away  from  their  lacquered  sumptuosities,  their  belauded 
sophistries,  their  serpent  graciosities,  their  spoken  and  acted 
cant,  with  a  sacred  horror,  with  an  Apage  Satanas.  —  Bobus 
and  Company,  and  all  men  will  gradually  join  us.  We  demand 
arrestment  of  the  knaves  and  dastards,  and  begin  by  arresting 
our  own  poor  selves  out  of  that  fraternity.  There  is  no  other 
reform  conceivable.  Thou  and  I,  my  friend,  can,  in  the  most 
flunky  world,  make,  each  of  us,  one  non-flunky,  one  hero,  if  wfe 
like  :  that  will  be  two  heroes  to  begin  with  :  — Courage  !  everi 


CHAP.  VI.  HERO-WORSHIP.  37 

that  is  a  whole  world  of  heroes  to  end  with,  or  what  we  poor 
Two  can  do  in  furtherance  thereof! 

Yes,  friends  :  Hero-Kings,  and  a  whole  world  not  unheroic, 
—  there  lies  the  port  and  happy  haven,  towards  which,  through 
all  these  storm-tost  seas,  French  Kevolutions,  Chartisms,  Man- 
chester Insurrections,  that  make  the  heart  sick  in  these  bad 
days,  the  Supreme  Powers  are  driving  us.  On  the  whole, 
blessed  be  the  Supreme  Powers,  stern  as  they  are !  Towards 
that  haven  will  we,  0  friends  ;  let  all  true  men,  with  what  of 
faculty  is  in  them,  bend  valiantly,  incessantly,  with  thousand- 
fold endeavor,  thither,  thither !  There,  or  else  in  the  Ocean- 
abysses,  it  is  very  clear  to  me,  we  shall  arrive. 

Well ;  here  truly  is  no  answer  to  the  Sphinx-question  ;  not 
the  answer  a  disconsolate  public,  inquiring  at  the  College  of 
Health,  was  in  hopes  of !  A  total  change  of  regimen,  change 
of  constitution  and  existence  from  the  very  centre  of  it;  a 
new  body  to  be  got,  with  resuscitated  soul,  —  not  without 
convulsive  travail-throes;  as  all  birth  and  new-birth  presup- 
poses travail !  This  is  sad  news  to  a  disconsolate  discerning 
Public,  hoping  to  have  got  off  by  some  Morrison's  Pill,  some 
Saint-John's  corrosive  mixture  and  perhaps  a  little  blistery 
friction  on  the  back !  —  We  were  prepared  to  part  with  our 
Corn-Law,  with  various  Laws  and  Unlaws :  but  this,  what  is 
this? 

Nor  has  the  Editor  forgotten  how  it  fares  with  your  ill- 
boding  Cassandras  in  Sieges  of  Troy.  Imminent  perdition  is 
not  usually  driven  away  by  words  of  warning.  Didactic  Des- 
tiny has  other  methods  in  store  ;  or  these  would  fail  always. 
Such  words  should,  nevertheless,  be  uttered,  when  they  dwell 
truly  in  the  soul  of  any  man.  Words  are  hard,  are  importu- 
nate ;  but  how  much  harder  the  importunate  events  they  fore- 
shadow !  Here  and  there  a  human  soul  may  listen  to  the 
words,  —  who  knows  how  many  human  souls  ?  —  whereby  the 
importunate  events,  if  iiot  diverted  and  prevented,  will  be 
rendered  less  hard.  The  present  Editor's  purpose  is  to  him- 
self full  of  hope. 

For  though  fierce  travails,  though  wide  seas  and  roaring 
gulfs  lie  before  us,  is  it  not  something  if  a  Loadstar,  in  the 


38  PAST  AND   PRESENT.  BOOK  I. 

eternal  sky,  do  once  more  disclose  itself ;  an  everlasting  light, 
shining  through  all  cloud-tempests  and  roaring  billows,  ever 
as  we  emerge  from  the  trough  of  the  sea :  the  blessed  beacon, 
far  off  on  the  edge  of  far  horizons,  towards  which  we  are  to 
steer  incessantly  for  life  ?  Is  it  not  something ;  O  Heavens, 
is  it  not  all  ?  There  lies  the  Heroic  Promised  Laud ;  under 
that  Heaven's-light,  my  brethren,  bloom  the  Happy  Isles,  — 
there,  oh  there !  Thither  will  we  ; 

"  There  dwells  the  great  Achilles  whom  we  knew."  J 

There  dwell  all  Heroes,  and  will  dwell :  thither,  all  ye  heroic- 
minded  !  —  The  Heaven's  Loadstar  once  clearly  in  our  eye,  ho\v 
will  each  true  man  stand  truly  to  his  work  in  the  ship ;  how, 
with  undying  hope,  will  all  things  be  fronted,  all  be  conquered. 
Nay.  with  the  ship's  prow  once  turned  in  that  direction,  is  not 
all,  as  it  were,  already  well  ?  Sick  wasting  misery  has  become 
noble  manful  effort  with  a  goal  in  our  eye.  "  The  choking 
Nightmare  chokes  us  no  longer ;  for  we  stir  under  it ;  the 
Nightmare  has  already  fled."  — 

Certainly,  could  the  present  Editor  instruct  men  how  to 
know  Wisdom,  Heroism,  when  they  see  it,  that  they  might  do 
reverence  to  it  only,  and  loyally  make  it  ruler  over  them,  — 
yes,  he  were  the  living  epitome  of  all  Editors,  Teachers, 
Prophets,  that  now  teach  and  prophesy  ;  he*  were  an  Apollo- 
Morrison,  a  Trismegistus  and  effective  Cassandra !  Let  no 
Able  Editor  hope  such  things.  It  is  to  be  expected  the  pres- 
ent laws  of  copyright,  rate  of  reward  per  sheet,  and  other  con- 
siderations, will  save  him  from  that  peril.  Let  no  Editor 
hope  such  things  :  no ;  —  and  yet  let  all  Editors  aim  towards 
such  things,  and  even  towards  such  alone !  One  knows  not 
what  the  meaning  of  editing  and  writing  is,  if  even  this  be 
not  it. 

Enough,  to  the  present  Editor  it  has  seemed  possible  som<; 
glimmering  of  light,  for  here  and  there  a  human  soul,  might 
lie  in  these  confused  Paper-Masses  now  intrusted  to  him  ; 
wherefore  he  determines  to  edit  the  same.  Out  of  old  Books 
new  Writings,  and  much  Meditation  not  of  yesterday,  he  will 

1  Tennyson's  Puems  (Ulysses). 


CHAP.  VI.  HERO-WORSHIP.  39 

endeavor  to  select  a  thing  or  two ;  and  from  the  Past,  in  a 
circuitous  way,  illustrate  the  Present  and  the  Future.  The 
Past  is  a  dim  indubitable  fact :  the  .Future  too  is  one,  only 
dimmer;  nay  properly  it  is  the  same  fact  in  new  dress  and 
development.  For  the  Present  holds  it  in  both  the  whole 
Past  and  J;he  whole  Future ;  —  as  the  LIFE-TREE  IGDRASIL, 
wide-waving,  inanv-toned,  has  its  roots  down  deep  in  the 
Death-Kingdoms,  among  the  oldest  dead  dust  of  men,  and 
with  its  boughs  reaches  always  beyond  the  stars ;  and  in  all 
times  and  places  is  one  and  the  same  Life-tree ! 


BOOK    II. 

THE  ANCIENT  MONK. 

CHAPTER   I. 

JOCELIN    OF    BKAKELOND. 

WE  will,  in  this  Second  Portion  of  our  Wort,  strive  to 
penetrate  a  little,  by  means  of  certain  confused  Papers,  printed 
and  other,  into  a  somewhat  remote  Century  ;  and  to  look  face 
to  face  on  it,  in  hope  of  perhaps  illustrating  our  own  poor 
Century  thereby.  It  seems  a  circuitous  way ;  but  it  may 
prove  a~way  nevertheless.  For  man  has  ever  been  a  striving, 
struggling,  and,  in  spite  of  wide-spread  calumnies  to  the  con- 
trary, a  veracious  creature  :  the  Centuries  too  are  all  lineal 
children  of  one  another;  and  often,  in  the  portrait  of  early 
grandfathers,  this  and  the  other  enigmatic  feature  of  the 
newest  grandson  shall  disclose  itself,  to  mutual  elucidation. 
This  Editor  will  venture  on  such  a  thing. 

Besides,  in  Editors'  Books,  and  indeed  everywhere  else  in 
the  world  of  To-day,  a  certain  latitude  of  movement  grows 
more  and  more  becoming  for  the  practical  man.  Salvation 
lies  not  in  tight  lacing,  in  these  times;  — how  far  from  that, 
in  any  province  whatsoever  !  Readers  and  men  generally  are 
getting  into  strange  habits  of  asking  all  persons  and  things, 
from  poor  Editors'  Books  up  to  Church  Bishops  and  State 
Potentates,  not,  By  what  designation  art  thou  called  ;  in  what 
wig  and  black  triangle  dost  thou  walk  abroad  ?  Heavens,  I 
know  thy  designation  and  black  triangle  well  enough !  But, 
in  God's  name,  what  art  thou  ?  Not  Nothing,  sayest  thou  ! 
Then,  How  much  and  what  ?  This  is  the  thing  I  would 


.  L  JOCELIN   OF   BRAKELOND.  41 

know ;  and  even  must  soon  know,  such  a  pass  am  I  come 
to!  —  What  weather-symptoms. — not  for  the  poor  Editor  of 
Books  alone!  The  Editor  of  Books  may  understand  withal 
that  if,  as  is  said,  "  many  kinds  are  permissible,"  there  is  one 
kind  not  permissible,  "the  kind  that  has  nothing  in  it,  U 
genre  ennuyeux  ;  "  and  go  on  his  way  accordingly. 

A  certain  Jocelinus  de  Brakelonda,  a  natural-born  English- 
man, has  left  us  an  extremely  foreign  Book,1  which  the  labors 
of  the  Camden  Society  have  brought  to  light  in  these  days. 
Jocelin's  Book,  the  "  Chronicle,"  or  private  Boswellian  Note- 
book, of  Jocelin,  a  certain  old  St.  Edrnundsbury  Monk  and 
Boswell,  now  seven  centuries  old,  how  remote  is  it  from  us ; 
exotic,  extraneous  ;  in  all  ways,  coming  from  far  abroad !  The 
language  of  it  is  not  foreign  only  but  dead :  Monk-Latin  lies 
across  not  the  British  Channel,  but  the  ninefold  Stygian 
Marshes,  Stream  of  Lethe,  and  one  knows  not  where ! 
Roman  Latin  itself,  still  alive  for  us  in  the  Elysian  Fields  of 
Memory,  is  domestic  in  comparison.  And  then  the  ideas,  life- 
furniture,  whole  workings  and  ways  of  this  worthy  Jocelin; 
covered  deeper  than  Pompeii  with  the  lava-ashes  and  inarticu- 
late wreck  of  seven  hundred  years  ! 

Jocelin  of  Brakelond  cannot  be  called  a  conspicuous  literary 
character ;  indeed  few  mortals  that  have  left  so  visible  a  work, 
or  footmark,  behind  them  can  be  more  obscure.  One  other 
of  those  vanished  Existences,  whose  work  has  not  yet  van- 
ished ;  —  almost  a  pathetic  phenomenon,  were  not  the  whole 
world  full  of  such !  The  builders  of  Stonehenge,  for  example  : 
—  or,  alas,  what  say  we,  Stonehenge  and  builders  ?  The 
writers  of  the  Universal  Review  and  Homer's  Iliad  ;  the  paviors 
of  London  streets ;  —  sooner  or  later,  the  entire  Posterity  of 
Adam  !  It  is  a  pathetic  phenomenon ;  but  an  irremediable, 
nay,  if  well  meditated,  a  consoling  one. 

By  his  dialect  of  Monk-Latin,  and  indeed  by  his  name,  this 
Jocelin  seems  to  have  been  a  Norman  Englishman;  the  sur- 

1  C'fironictt  JocELixi  DE  BRAKELONUA,  de  rebus  gestis  Sanisonls  Abbatis 
Monasterii  Sanrti  Edmundi :  mine  fjrimum  typis  tnandata,  curante  Johannt  Gagf 
Rokewood.  (Camden  Society,  London,  1840.) 


42  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  II. 

name  de  Brakelonda  indicates  a  native  of  St.  Edmundsbury 
itself,  Brakelond  being  the  known  old  name  of  a  street  or 
quarter  in  that  venerable  Town.  Then  farther,  sure  enough, 
our  Jocelin  was  a  Monk  of  St.  Edmundsbury  Convent ;  held 
some  "  obedientia,"  subaltern  officiality  there,  or  rather,  in  suc- 
cession several ;  was,  for  one  thing,  "  chaplain  to  my  Lord 
Abbot,  living  beside  him  night  and  day  for  the  space  of  six 
years;" — which  last,  indeed,  is  the  grand  fact  of  Joceliivs 
existence,  and  properly  the  origin  of  this  present  Book,  and 
of  the  chief  meaning  it  has  for  us  now.  He  was,  as  we  have 
hinted,  a  kind  of  born  Boswell,  though  an  infinitesimally  small 
one  ;  neither  did  he  altogether  want  his  Johnson  even  there 
and  then.  Johnsons  are  rare;  yet,  as  has  been  asserted, 
Boswells  perhaps  still  rarer,  —  the  more  is  the  pity  on  both 
sides  !  This  Jocelin,  as  we  can  discern  well,  was  an  ingenious 
and  ingenuous,  a  cheery-hearted,  innocent,  yet  withal  shrewd, 
noticing,  quick-witted  man ;  and  from  under  his  monk's  cowl 
has  looked  out  on  that  narrow  section  of  the  world  in  a  really 
human  manner ;  not  in  any  simial,  canine,  ovine,  or  otherwise 
mhuman  manner,  —  afflictive  to  all  that  have  humanity  !  The 
man  is  of  patient,  peaceable,  loving,  clear-smiling  nature  ;  open 
for  this  and  that.  A  wise  simplicity  is  in  him ;  much  natural 
sense ;  a  veracity  that  goes  deeper  than  words.  Veracity  :  it 
is  the  basis  of  all ;  and,  some  say,  means  genius  itself ;  the 
prime  essence  of  all  genius  whatsoever.  Our  Jocelin,  for 
the  rest,  has  read  his  classical  manuscripts,  his  Virgilius,  his 
Flaccus,  Ovidius  Naso ;  of  course  still  more,  his  Homilies 
and  Breviaries,  and  if  not  the  Bible,  considerable  extracts  of 
the  Bible.  Then  also  he  has  a  pleasant  wit;  and  loves  a 
timely  joke,  though  in  mild  subdued  manner :  very  amiable 
to  see.  A  learned  grown  man,  yet  with  the  heart  as  of  a 
good  child;  whose  whole  life  indeed  has  been  that  of  a 
child, —  St.  Edmundsbury  Monastery  a  larger  kind  of  cradle 
for  him,  in  which  his  whole  prescribed  duty  was  to  .sleep 
kindly,  and  love  his  mother  well !  This  is  the  Biography  of 
Jocelin;  "a  man  of  excellent  religion,"  says  one  of  his  con- 
temporary Brother  Monks,  "  eximia;  reJirjionis,  potens  sermons 
et  opere" 


CHAP.  I.  JOCELIN  OF  BRAKELOND.  43 

For  one  thing,  he  had  learned  to  write  a  kind  of  Monk  or 
Dog-Latin,  still  readable  to  mankind ;  and,  by  good  luck  for 
us,  had  bethought  him  of  noting  down  thereby  what  things 
seemed  notablest  to  him.  Hence  gradually  resulted  a  Chronica 
Jocelini ;  new  Manuscript  in  the  Liber  Albus  of  St.  Edmunds- 
bury.  Which  Chronicle,  once  written  in  its  childlike  trans- 
parency, in  its  innocent  good-humor,  not  without  touches  of 
ready  pleasant  wit  and  many  kinds  of  worth,  other  men  liked 
naturally  to  read :  whereby  it  failed  not  to  be  copied,  to  be 
multiplied,  to  be  inserted  in  the  Liber  Albus  ;  and  so  surviving 
Henry  the  Eighth,  Putney  Cromwell,  the  Dissolution  of  Mon- 
asteries, and  all  accidents  of  malice  and  neglect  for  six  centu- 
ties  or  so,  it  got  into  the  Harleian  Collection, — and  has  now 
therefrom,  by  Mr.  Rokewood  of  the  Cauiden  Society,  been 
leciphered  into  clear  print;  and  lies  before  us,  a  dainty  thin 
quarto,  to  interest  for  a  few  minutes  whomsoever  it  can. 

Here  too  it  will  behoove  a  just  Historian  gratefully  to  say 
that  Mr.  Rokewood,  Jocelin's  Editor,  has  done  his  editorial 
function  well.  Not  only  has  he  deciphered  his  crabbed  Manu- 
script into  clear  print ;  but  he  has  attended,  what  his  fellow 
editors  are  not  always  in  the  habit  of  doing,  to  the  important 
truth  that  the  Manuscript  so  deciphered  ought  to  have  a 
meaning  for  the  reader.  Standing  faithfully  by  his  text,  and 
printing  its  very  errors  in  spelling,  in  grammar  or  otherwise, 
he  has  taken  care  by  some  note  to  indicate  that  they  are  errors, 
and  what  the  correction  of  them  ought  to  be.  Jocelin's  Monk- 
Latin  is  generally  transparent,  as  shallow  limpid  water.  But 
at  any  stop  that  may  occur,  of  which  there  are  a  few,  and  only 
a  very  few,  we  have  the  comfortable  assurance  that  a  meaning 
does  lie  in  the  passage,  and  may  by  industry  be  got  at ;  that  a 
faithful  editor's  industry  had  already  got  at  it  before  passing  on. 
A  compendious  useful  Glossary  is  given  ;  nearly  adequate  to 
help  the  uninitiated  through  :  sometimes  one  wishes  it  had  been 
a  trifle  larger ;  but,  with  a  Spelman  and  Ducange  at  your  elbow, 
how  easy  to  have  made  it  far  too  large  !  Notes  are  added,  gen- 
erally brief ;  sufficiently  explanatory  of  most  points.  Lastly, 
ti  copious  correct  Index  ;  which  no  such  Book  should  want, 
and  which  unluckily  very  few  possess.  And  so,  in  a  word,  the 


44  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  rr. 

Chronicle  ofJocelin  is,  as  it  professes  to  be,  unwrapped  from  its 
thick  cerements,  and  fairly  brought  forth  into  the  common  day- 
light, so  that  he  who  runs,  and  has  a  smattering  of  grammar, 
may  read. 

We  have  heard  so  much  of  Monks ;  everywhere,  in  real  and 
fictitious  History,  from  Muratori  Annals  to  Radeliffe  Eomances, 
these  singular  two-legged  animals,  with  their  rosaries  and  bre-A 
viaries,  with  their  "shaven  crowns,  hair-cilities,  and  vows  of 
poverty,  masquerade  so  strangely  through  our  fancy  ;  and  they/ 
are  in  fact  so  very  strange  an  extinct  species  of  the  human 
family,  —  a  veritable  Monk  of  Bury  St.  Edmunds  is  worth  at- 
tending to,  if  by  chance  made  visible  and  audible.  Here  he  is  ; 
and  in  his  hand  a  magical  speculum,  much  gone  to  rust  indeed, 
yet  in  fragments  still  clear ;  wherein  the  marvellous  image  of 
his  existence  does  still  shadow  itself,  though  fitfully,  and  as 
with  an  intermittent  light !  Will  not  the  reader  peep  with 
us  into  this  singular  camera  lucida,  where  an  extinct  species, 
though  fitfully,  can  still  be  seen  alive  ?  Extinct  species,  we 
say;  for  the  live  specimens  which  still  go  about  under  that 
character  are  too  evidently  to  be  classed  as  spurious  in  Natural 
History :  the  Gospel  of  Kichard  Arkwright  once  promulgated, 
no  Monk  of  the  old  sort  is  any  longer  possible  in  this  world. 
But  fancy  a  deep-buried  Mastodon,  some  fossil  Megatherion, 
Ichthyosaurus,  were  to  begin  to  speak  from  amid  its  rock-swath- 
ings,  never  so  indistinctly  !  The  most  extinct  fossil  species  of 
Men  or  Monks  can  do,  and  does,  this  miracle,  — thanks  to  the 
Letters  of  the  Alphabet,  good  for  so  many  things. 

Jocelin,  we  said,  was  somewhat  of  a  Boswell ;  but  unfortu- 
•nately,  by  Nature,  he  is  none  of  the  largest,  and  distance  has 
now  dwarfed  him  to  an  extreme  degree.     His  light  is  most 
feeble,  intermittent,  and  requires  the  intensest  kindest  inspec- 
tion ;  otherwise  it  will  disclose  mere  vacant  haze.     It  must  bo   j 
owned,  the  good  Jocelin,  spite  of  his  beautiful  childlike  char-  / 
acter,  is  but  an  altogether  imperfect  "mirror"  of  these  old- 
world  things  !     The  good  man,  he  looks  on  us   so  clear  and 
cheery,  and  in  his  neighborly  soft-smiling  eyes  we  see  so  well 
our  own  shadow,  —  we  have  a  longing  always  to  cross-question 


CHAP.  I.  JOCELIN  OF  BRAKELOND.  45 

him,  to  force  from  him  an  explanation  of  much.  But  no ; 
Jocelin,  though  he  talks  with  such  clear  familiarity,  like  a 
next-door  neighbor,  will  not  answer  any  question  :  that  is  the 
peculiarity  of  him,  dead  these  six  hundred  and  fifty  years,  and 
quite  deaf  to  us,  though  still  so  audible !  The  good  man,  he 
cannot  help  it,  nor  can  we. 

But  truly  it  is  a  strange  consideration  this  simple  one,  as 
we  go  on  with  him,  or  indeed  with  any  lucid  simple-hearted 
soul  like  him :  Behold  therefore,  this  England  of  the    Year v 
1200  was  no  chimerical  vacuity  or   dreamland,  peopled  with 
mere  vaporous  Phantasms,  Rymer's  Fredera,  and  Doctrines  of  < 
the  Constitution ;  but  a  green  solid  place,  that  grew  corn  and 
several  other  things.     The  Sun  shone  on  it ;  the  vicissitude  of 
seasons  and  human  fortunes.     Cloth  was  woven  and  worn j 
ditches  were  dug,  furrow-fields  ploughed,  and  houses  built. 
Day  by  day  all  men  and  cattle  rose  to  labor,  and   night  by 
night  returned  home  weary  to  their  several  lairs.     In  won-  \ 
drous  Dualism,  then  as  now,  lived  nations  of  breathing  men ;  j 
alternating,  in  all  ways,  between  Light   and  Dark ;  between  I 
joy  and  sorrow,  between  rest  and  toil,  —  between  hope,  hope 
reaching  high  as  Heaven,  and  fear  deep  as  very  Hell.      Not 
vapor  Phantasms,  Rymer's  Fredera  at  all !  Cceur-de-Lion  was  not 
a  theatrical  popinjay  with  greaves  and  steel-cap  on  it,  but  a 
man  living  upon  victuals,  not  imported  by  Peel's  Tariff.   Coeur- 
de-Lion  came  palpably  athwart  tnis  Jocelin  at  St.  Edmunds- 
bury  ;  and  had  almost  peeled  the  sacred  gold "  Feretrum"  or 
St.  Edmund  Shrine  itself,  to  ransom  him  out  of  the  Danuba 
Jail. 

These  clear  eyes  of  neighbor  Jocelin  looked  on  the  bodily  \ 
presence  of  King  John  ;  the  very  John  Sansterre,  or  Lackland.  \ 
who  signed  Magna  Charta  afterwards  in  Runnymedo.     Lack- 
land, with  a  great  retinue,  boarded  once,  for  the  matter  of  a 
fortnight,  in    St.   Edmundsbury  Convent ;  daily  in   the   very 
eyesight,  palpable  to  the  very  fingers  of  our  Jocelin  :  0  Joce 
lin,  what  did  he  say,  what  did  he  do  ;  how  looked  ho,  lived  he, 
—  at  the  very  lowest,  what  coat  or  breeches  had  he  on  ?   Joce- 
lin is  obstinately  silent.     Jocelin  marks  down  what  interests 
him  ;  entirely  deaf  to  us.     With  Jocelin's  eyes   we   discern 


4b  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  it. 

almost  nothing  of  John  Lackland.  As  through  a  glass  darkly, 
we  with  our  own  eyes  and  appliances,  intensely  looking,  dis- 
cern at  most :  A  blustering,  dissipated  human  figure,  with  a 
kind  of  blackguard  quality  air,  in  cramoisy  velvet,  or  other  un- 
certain texture,  uncertain  cut,  with  much  plumage  and  fring- 
ing; amid  numerous  other  human  figures  of  the  like;  riding 
abroad  with  hawks  ;  talking  noisy  nonsense  ;  —  tearing  out  the 
bowels  of  St.  Edmundsbury  Convent  (its  larders  namely  and 
cellars)  in  the  most  ruinous  way,  by  living  at  rack  and  manger 
there.  Jocelin  notes  only,  with  a  slight  subacidity  of  manner, 
that  the  King's  Majesty,  Domimts  Rex,  did  leave,  as  gift  for 
our  St.  Edmund  Shrine,  a  handsome  enough  silk  cloak,  —  or 
rather  pretended  to  leave,  for  one  of  his  retinue  borrowed  it  of 
us,  and  ive  never  got  sight  of  it  again ;  and,  on  the  whole,  that 
the  Do  minus  Rex,  at  departing,  gave  us  ''thirteen  sterlingii" 
one  shilling  and  one  penny,  to  say  a  mass  for  him ;  and  so  de- 
parted, —  like  a  shabby  Lackland  as  he  was  !  "  Thirteen  pence 
sterling,"  this  was  what  the  Convent  got  from  Lackland,  for 
all  the  victuals  he  and  his  had  made  away  with.  We  of  course 
said  our  mass  for  him,  having  covenanted  to  do  it, —  but  let 
impartial  posterity  judge  with  what  degree  of  fervor  ! 

And  in  this  manner  vanishes  King  Lackland  ;  traverses 
swiftly  our  strange  intermittent  magic-mirror,  jingling  the 
shabby  thirteen  pence  merely  ;  and  rides  with  his  hawks  into 
Egyptian  night  again.  It  is'  Jocelin's  manner  with  all  things  ; 
and  it  is  men's  manner  and  men's  necessity.  How  intermit- 
tent is  our  good  Jocelin;  marking  down,  without  eye  to  i/s, 
what  he  finds  interesting !  How  much  in  Jocelin,  as  in  all 
History,  and  indeed  in  all  Nature,  is  at  once  inscrutable  and 
certain  ;  so  dim,  yet  so  indubitable  ;  exciting  us  to  endless  con- 
siderations. For  King  Lackland  was  there,  verily  he ;  and  did 
leave  these  tredecim  sterlingii,  if  nothing  more,  and  did  live  and 
look  in  one  way  or  the  other,  and  a  whole  world  was  living  and 
looking  along  with  him  !  There,  we  say,  is  the  grand  pecu- 
liarity; the  immeasurable  one;  distinguishing,  to  a  really 
infinite  degree,  the  poorest  historical  Fact  from  all  Fiction 
whatsoever.  Fiction,  "Imagination,"  "  Imaginative  Poetry," 
&c.  &c.,  except  as  the  vehicle  for  truth,  or  fact  of  some  sort, 


CHAP.  II.  ST.  EDMUNDSBURY.  47 

—  which  surely  a  man  should  first  try  various  other  ways 
of  vehiculating,  and  conveying  safe,  —  what  is  it  ?  Let  the 
Minerva  and  other  Presses  respond !  — 

But  it  is  time  we  were  in  St.  Edmundsbury  Monastery,  and 
Seven  good  Centuries  off.  If  indeed  it  be  possible,  by  any 
aid  of  Jocelin,  by  any  human  art,  to  get  thither,  with  a  reader 
or  two  still  following  us  ? 


CHAPTER   II. 

ST.    EDMUXDSBURY. 

THE  Bury,  Bury,  or  "  Berry  "  as  they  call  it,  of  St.  Edmund 
is  still  a  prosperous  brisk  Town ;  beautifully  diversifying,  with 
its  clear  brick  houses,  ancient  clean  streets,  and  twenty  or  fit- 
teen  thousand  busy  souls,  the  general  grassy  face  of  Suffolk ; 
looking  out  right  pleasantly,  from  its  hill-slope,  towards  the 
rising  Sun :  and  on  the  eastern  edge  of  it,  still  runs,  long, 
black  and  massive,  a  range  of  monastic  ruins ;  into  the  wide 
internal  spaces  of  which  the  stranger  is  admitted  on  payment 
of  one  shilling.  Internal  spaces  laid  out,  at  present,  as  a 
botanic  garden.  Here  stranger  or  townsman,  sauntering  at 
his  leisure  amid  these  vast  grim  venerable  ruins,  may  per- 
suade himself  that  an  Abbey  of  St.  Edmundsbury  did  once 
exist ;  nay  there  is  no  doubt  of  it :  see  here  the  ancient  mas- 
sive Gateway,  of  architecture  interesting  to  the  eye  of  Dilet- 
tantism ;  and  farther  on,  that  other  ancient  Gateway,  now 
about  to  tumble,  unless  Dilettantism,  in  these  very  months, 
can  subscribe  money  to  cramp  it  and  prop  it ! 

Here,  sure  enough,  is  an  Abbey;  beautiful  in  the  eye  of 
Dilettantism.  Giant  Pedantry  also  will  step  in,  with  its  huge 
Dugdale  and  other  enormous  Monast icons  under  its  arm,  and 
cheerfully  apprise  you,  That  this  was  a  very  great  Abbey, 
owner  and  indeed  creator  of  St.  Edmund's  Town  itself,  owner 
of  wide  lands  and  revenues ;  nay  that  its  lands  were  once  p. 


48  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  II. 

county  of  themselves ;  that  indeed  King  Canute  or  Knut  was 
very  kind  to  it,  and  gave  St.  Edmund  his  own  gold  crown  off 
his  head,  on  one  occasion :  for  the  rest,  that  the  Monks  were 
of  such  and  such  a  genus,  such  and  such  a  number  ;  that  they 
had  so  many  carucates  of  laud  in  this  hundred,  and  so  many 
in  that ;  and  then  farther  that  the  large  Tower  or  Belfry  was 
built  by  such  a  one,  and  the  smaller  Belfry  was  built  by  &c. 
&c.  — Till  human  nature  can  stand  no  more  of  it ;  till  human 
nature  desperately  take  refuge  in  forgetfulness,  almost  in  flat 
disbelief  of  the  whole  business,  Monks,  Monastery,  Belfries, 
Carucates  and  all !  Alas,  what  mountains  of  dead  ashes, 
wreck  and  burnt  bones,  does  assiduous  Pedantry  dig  up  from 
the  Past  Time,  and  name  it  History,  and  Philosophy  of  His- 
tory ;  till,  as  we  say,  the  human  soul  sinks  wearied  and  bewil- 
dered; till  the  Past  Time  seems  all  one  infinite  incredible 
gray  void,  without  sun,  stars,  hearth-fires,  or  candle-light ;  dim 
offensive  dust-whirlwinds  filling  universal  Nature ;  and  over 
your  Historical  Library,  it  is  as  if  all  the  Titans  had  written 
for  themselves :  DRY  RUBBISH  SHOT  HERE  ! 

And  yet  these  grim  old  walls  are  not  a  dilettantism  and 
dubiety ;  they  are  an  earnest  fact.  It  was  a  most  real  and 
serious  purpose  they  were  built  for !  Yes,  another  world  it 
was,  when  these  black  ruins,  white  in  their  new  mortar  and 
fresh  chiselling,  first  saw  the  sun  as  walls,  long  ago.  Gauge 
not,  with  thy  dilettante  compasses,  with  that  placid  dilettante 
simper,  the  Heaven's  Watch-tower  of  our  Fathers,  the  fallen 
God's-Houses,  the  Golgotha  of  true  Souls  departed ! 

Their  architecture,  belfries,  land-carucates  ?  Yes,  —  and 
that  is  but  a  small  item  of  the  matter.  Does  it  never  give 
thee  pause,  this  other  strange  item  of  it,  that  men  then  had  a 
soul,  —  not  by  hearsay  alone,  and  as  a  figure  of  speech ;  but  as 
a  truth  that  they  knew,  and  practically  went  upon  !  Verily  it 
was  another  world  then.  Their  Missals  have  become  incredi- 
ble, a  sheer  platitude,  sayest  thou  ?  Yes,  a  most  poor  plat- 
itude ;  and  even,  if  thou  wilt,  an  idolatry  and  blasphemy, 
should  any  one  persuade  thee  to  believe  them,  to  pretend 
praying  by  them.  But  yet  it  is  pity  we  had  lost  tidings  of 
our  souls :  —  actually  we  shall  have  to  go  in  quest  of  them 


CHAP.  ii.  ST.   EDMUNDSBURY.  49 

again,  or  worse  in  all  ways  will  befall !  A  certain  degree  of 
soul,  as  Ben  Jonson  reminds  us,  is  indispensable  to  keep  the 
very  body  from  destruction  of  the  frightfulest  sort ;  to  "  save 
us,"  says  he,  "  the  expense  of  salt."  Ben  has  known  men 
who  had  soul  enough  to  k^ep  their  body  and  five  senses 
from  becoming  carrion,  and  save  salt :  —  men,  and  also  Na- 
tions. You  may  look  in  Manchester  Hunger-mobs  and  Corn- 
law  .  Commons  Houses,  and  various  other  quarters,  and  say 
whether  either  soul  or  else  salt  is  not  somewhat  wanted  at 
present ! 

Another  world,  truly:  and  this  present  poor  distressed 
world  might  get  some  profit  by  looking  wisely  into  it,  instead 
of  foolishly.  But  at  lowest,  0  dilettante  friend,  let  us  know 
always  that  it  was  a  world,  and  not  a  void  infinite  of  gray 
haze  with  phantasms  swimming  in  it.  These  old  St.  Edmunds- 
bury  walls,  I  say,  were  not  peopled  with  phantasms ;  but  with 
men  of  flesh  and  blood,  made  altogether  as  we  are.  Had  thou 
and  I  then  been,  who  knows  but  we  ourselves  had  taken  ref- 
uge from  an  evil  Time,  and  fled  to  dwell  here,  and  meditate 
on  an  Eternity,  in  such  fashion  as  we  could  ?  Alas,  how  like 
an  old  osseous  fragment,  a  broken  blackened  shin-bone  of  the 
old  dead  Ages,  this  black  min  looks  out,  not  yet  covered  by 
the  soil ;  still  indicating  what  a  once  gigantic  Life  lies  buried 
there  !  It  is  dead  now,  and  dumb ;  but  was  alive  once,  and 
spake.  For  twenty  generations,  here  was  the  earthly  arena 
where  painful  living  men  worked  out  their  life-wrestle,  — 
looked  at  by  Earth,  by  Heaven  and  Hell.  Bells  tolled  to 
prayers ;  and  men,  of  many  humors,  various  thoughts,  chanted 
vespers,  matins; — and  round  the  little  islet  of  their  life 
rolled  forever  (as  round  ours  still  rolls,  though  we  are  blind 
and  deaf)  the  illimitable  Ocean,  tinting  all  things  with  its 
eternal  hues  and  reflexes;  making  strange  prophetic  music! 
How  silent  now  ;  all  departed,  clean  gone.  The  World- 
Dramaturgist  has  written :  Exeunt.  The  devouring  Time- 
Demons  have  made  away  with  it  all :  and  in  its  stead,  there 
is  either  nothing ;  or  what  is  worse,  offensive  universal  dust- 
clouds,  and  gray  eclipse  of  Earth  and  Heaven,  from  "dry 
rubbish  shot  here  !  "  — 

VOL.  XII.  4 


50  PAST  AND  PKESENT.  BOOK  II. 

Truly  it  is  no  easy  matter  to  get  across  the  chasm  of  Seven 
Centuries,  filled  with  such  material.  But  here,  of  all  helps, 
is  not  a  Boswell  the  welcomest  ;  even  a  small  Boswell  ? 
Veracity,  true  simplicity  of  heart,  how  valuable  are  these 
always !  He  that  speaks  what  in  really  in  him,  will  find  men 
to  listen,  though  under  never  such  impediments.  Even  gossip, 
springing  free  and  cheery  from  a  human  heart,  this  too  is 
a  kind  of  veracity  and  speech  ;  —  much  preferable  to  pedantry 
and  inane  gray  haze  !  Jocelin  is  weak  and  garrulous,  but  he 
is  human.  Through  the  thin  watery  gossip  of  our  Joceliu, 
we  do  get  some  glimpses  of  that  deep-buried  Time ;  discern 
veritably,  though  in  a  fitful  intermittent  manner,  these  an- 
tique figures  and  their  life-method,  face  to  face  !  Beautifully, 
in  our  earnest  loving  glance,  the  old  centuries  melt  from 
opaque  to  partially  translucent,  transparent  here  and  there ; 
and  the  void  black  Night,  one  finds,  is  but  the  summing-up  of 
innumerable  peopled  luminous  Days.  Not  parchment  Chartu- 
laries,  Doctrines  of  the  Constitution,  0  Dryasdust ;  not  alto- 
gether, my  erudite  friend !  — 

Readers  who  please  to  go  along  with  us  into  this  poor 
Jocelini  Chronica  shall  wander  inconveniently  enough,  as  in 
wintry  twilight,  through  some  poor  stript  hazel-grove,  rust- 
ling with  foolish  noises,  and  perpetually  hindering  the  eye- 
sight; but  across  which,  here  and  there,  some  real  human 
figure  is  seen  moving :  very  strange ;  whom  we  could  hail  if 
he  would  answer;  —  and  we  look  into  a  pair  of  eyes  deep  as 
our  own,  imaging  our  own,  but  all  unconscious  of  us ;  to  whom 
we,  for  the  time,  are  become  as  spirits  and  invisible  ! 


CHAP.  III.  LANDLORD   EDMUND.  61 


CHAPTER   III. 

LANDLORD    EDMUND. 

SOME  three  centuries  or  so  had  elapsed  since  Beodric's-worth l 
became  St.  Edmund's  Stow,  St.  Edmund's  Town  and  Monas- 
tery, before  Jocelin  entered  himself  a  Novice  there.  "  It  was," 
says  he,  "  the  year  after  the  Flemings  were  defeated  at  Forn- 
ham  St.  Genevieve." 

Much  passes  away  into  oblivion  :  this  glorious  victory  over 
the  Flemings  at  Fornham  has,  at  the  present  date,  greatly 
dimmed  itself  out  of  the  minds  of  men.  A  victory  and  battle 
nevertheless  it  was,  in  its  time :  some  thrice-renowned  Earl 
of  Leicester,  not  of  the  De  Moutfort  breed  (as  may  be  read  in 
Philosophical  and  other  Histories,  could  any  human  memory 
retain  such  things),  had  quarrelled  with  his  sovereign,  Henry 
Second  of  the  name ;  had  been  worsted,  it  is  like,  and  mal- 
treated, and  obliged  to  fly  to  foreign  parts  ;  but  had  rallied 
there  into  new  vigor ;  and  so,  in  the  year  1173,  returns  across 
the  German  Sea  with  a  vengeful  army  of  Flemings.  Returns, 
to  the  coast  of  Suffolk ;  to  Framlingham  Castle,  where  he  is 

1  Dryasdust  puzzles  aud  pokes  for  some  biography  of  this  Beodric  ;  and 
repugns  to  consider  him  a  mere  East-Anglian  Person  of  Condition,  not  in 
need  of  a  biography,  —  whose  peop^,  weortfi  or  worth,  that  is  to  say,  Growth, 
Increase,  or  as  we  should  now  name  it,  Estate,  that  same  Hamlet  and  wood 
Mansion,  now  St.  Edmund's  Bury,  originally  was.  For,  adds  our  erudite 
Friend,  the  Saxon  peopttan,  equivalent  to  the  German  iverden,  means  to  grow, 
to  become ;  traces  of  which  old  vocable  are  still  found  in  the  North-country 
dialects  ;  as,  "  What  is  word  of  him  ?  "  meaning,  "  What  is  become  of  him  ?  " 
and  the  like.  Nay  we  in  modern  English  still  say,  "  Woe  worth  the  hour  " 
(Woe  befall  the  hour),  and  speak  of  the  "  Weird  Sisters  ;  "  not  to  mention  the 
innumerable  other  names  of  places  still  ending  in  wforth  or  worth.  And  in- 
deed, our  common  noun  worth,  in  the  sense  of  value,  does  not  this  mean  simply. 
What  a  thing  has  grown  to,  What  a  man  has  (frown  to,  How  much  he  amount," 
to,  —  by  the  Threadneedle-street  standard  or  another ! 


52  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  it 

welcomed  ;  westward  towards  St.  Edmundsbury  and  Fornham 
Church,  where  he  is  met  by  the  constituted  authorities  with 
posse  comitatus  ;  and  swiftly  cut  in  pieces,  he  and  his,  or  laid 
by  the  heels  ;  on  the  right  bank  of  the  obscure  river  Lark,  — 
as  traces  still  existing  will  verify. 

For  the  river  Lark,  though  not  very  discoverably,  still  runs 
or  stagnates  in  that  country  ;  and  the  battle-ground  is  there  ; 
serving  at  present  as  a  pleasure-ground  to  his  Grace  of  North- 
umberland. Copper  pennies  of  Henry  II.  are  still  found  there ; 
—  rotted  out  from  the  pouches  of  poor  slain  soldiers,  who  had 
not  had  time  to  buy  liquor  with  them.  In  the  river  Lark  itself 
was  fished  up,  within  man's  memory,  an  antique  gold  ring ; 
which  fond  Dilettantism  can  almost  believe  may  have  been  the 
very  ring  Countess  Leicester  threw  away,  in  her  flight,  into 
that  same  Lark  river  or  ditch.1  Kay,  few  years  ago,  in  tear-- 
ing out  an  enormous  superannuated  ash-tree,  now  grown  quite 
corpulent,  bursten,  superfluous,  but  long  a  fixture  in  the  soil, 
and  not  to  be  dislodged  without  revolution,  —  there  was  laid 
bare,  under  its  roots,  "  a  circular  mound  of  skeletons  wonder- 
fully complete,"  all  radiating  from  a  centre,  faces  upwards, 
feet  inwards  ;  a  "  radiation  "  not  of  Light,  but  of  the  Nether 
Darkness  rather  ;  and  evidently  the  fruit  of  battle  ;  for  "  many 
of  the  heads  were  cleft,  or  had  arrow-holes  in  them."  The 
Battle  of  Fornham,  therefore,  is  a  fact,  though  a  forgotten 
one  ;  no  less  obscure  than  undeniable,  —  like  so  many  other 
facts. 

Like  the  St.  Edmund's  Monastery  itself  !  Who  can  doubt, 
after  what  we  have  said,  that  there  was  a  Monastery  here  at 
one  time  ?  No  doubt  at  all  there  was  a  Monastery  here  ;  no 
doubt,  some  three  centuries  prior  to  this  Fornham  Battle,  there 
dwelt  a  man  in  these  parts  of  the  name  of  Edmund,  King, 
Landlord,  Duke  or  whatever  his  title  was,  of  the  Eastern 
Counties ;  —  and  a  very  singular  man  and  landlord  he  must 
have  been. 

For  his  tenants,  it  would  appear,  did  not  in  the  least  com- 
plain of  him  ;  his  laborers  did  not  think  of  burning  his  wheat- 
i  Lyttelton'a  History  of  Hen  ry  If.  (2d  edition),  v.  169,  &c. 


CHAP.  in.  LANDLORD   EDMUND.  53 

stacks,  breaking  into  his  game-preserves  ;  very  far  the  reverse 
of  all  that.  Clear  evidence,  satisfactory  even  to  my  friend 
DryasdusJ^-exists  that,  on  the  contrary,  they  honored,  loved, 
admired  this  ancient  Landlord  to  a  quite  astonishing  degree, 

—  and  indeed  at  last  to  an  immeasurable  and  inexpressible 
degree ;    for,  finding  no  limits  or  utterable  words  for  their 
sense  of  his  worth,  they  took  to  beatifying  and  adoring  him  ! 
"  Infinite  admiration,"  we  are  taught,  "  means  worship." 

Very  singular,  —  could  we  discover  it !  What  Edmund's 
specific  duties  were ;  above  all,  what  his  method  of  discharg- 
ing them  with  such  results  was,  would  surely  be  interesting 
to  know ;  but  are  not  very  discoverable  now.  His  Life  has 
become  a  poetic,  nay  a  religious  Mi/thus ;  though,  undeniably 
enough,  it  was  once  a  prose  Fact,  as  our  poor  lives  are  ;  and 
even  a  very  rugged  unmanageable  one.  This  landlord  Edmund 
did  go  about  in  leather  shoes,  vritib  femoralia  and  body -coat  of 
some  sort  on  him ;  and  daily  had  his  breakfast  to  procure  ; 
and  daily  had  contradictory  speeches,  and  most  contradictory 
facts  not  a  few,  to  reconcile  with  himself.  No  man  becomes 
a  Saint  in  his  sleep.  Edmund,  for  instance,  instead  of  recon- 
ciling those  same  contradictory  facts  and  speeches  to  himself, 

—  which  means  subduing,  and  in  a  manlike  and  godlike  man- 
ner conquering  them  to  himself,  —  might  have  merely  thrown 
new  contention  into  them,  new  unwisdom  into  them,  and  so 
been  conquered  by  them  ;  much  the  commoner  case  !     In  that 
way  he  had  proved  no  "  Saint,"  or  Divine-looking  Man,  but  a 
mere  Sinner,  and  unfortunate,  blamable,  more  or  less  Diabolic- 
looking  man  !     No  landlord  Edmund  becomes  infinitely  admi- 
rable in  his  sleep. 

With  what  degree  of  wholesome  rigor  his  rents  were  col- 
lected, we  hear  not.  Still  less  by  what  methods  he  preserved 
his  game,  whether  by  "  bushing ''  or  how,  —  and  if  the  par- 
tridge-seasons were  "  excellent,"  or  were  indifferent.  Neither 
do  \ve  ascertain  what  kind  of  Corn-bill  he  passed,  or  wisely 
•adjusted  Sliding-scale  :  —  but  indeed  there  were  few  spinners 
in  those  days ;  and  the  nuisance  of  spinning,  and  other  dusty 
labor,  was  not  yet  so  glaring  a  one. 

How  then,  it  may  be  asked,  did  this  Edmund  rise  into  favor; 


54  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  II. 

become  to  such  astonishing  extent  a  recognized  Farmer's 
Friend  ?  Really,  except  it  were  by  doing  justly  and  loving 
mercy  to  an  unprecedented  extent,  one  does  not  know.  The 
man,  it  would  seem,  "had  walked,"  as  they,  say,  "humbly 

'  with  God ;  "  humbly  and  valiantly  with  God ;  struggling  to 
make  the  Earth  heavenly  as  he  could  :  instead  of  walking 

,  sumptuously  and  pridefully  with  Mammon,  leaving  the  Earth 
to  grow  hellish  as  it  liked.  Not  sumptuously  with  Mammon  ? 
How  then  could  he  "  encourage  trade,"  —  cause  Howel  and 
James,  and  many  wine-merchants,  to  bless  him,  and  the  tailor's 
heart  (though  in  a  very  short-sighted  manner)  to  sing  for  joy  ? 
Much  in  this  Edmund's  Life  is  mysterious. 

That  he  could,  on  occasion,  do  what  he  liked  with  his  own, 
is  meanwhile  evident  enough.  Certain  Heathen  Physical- 
Force  Ultra-Chartists,  "  Danes "  as  they  were  then  called, 
coming  into  his  territory  with  their  "rive  points,"  or  rather 
with  their  five-and-twenty  thousand  points  and  edges  too,  of 
pikes  namely  and  battle-axes ;  and  proposing  mere  Heathen- 
ism, confiscation,  spoliation,  and  fire  and  sword, — Edmund  an- 
swered that  he  would  oppose  to  the  utmost  such  savagery. 
They  took  him  prisoner ;  again  required  his  sanction  to  said 
proposals.  Edmund  again  refused.  Cannot  we  kill  you  ?  cried 
they.  —  Cannot  I  die  ?  answered  he.  My  life,  I  think,  is  my 
own  to  do  what  I  like  with  !  And  he  died,  under  barbarous 
tortures,  refusing  to  the  last  breath ;  and  the  Ultra-Chartist 
Danes  lost  their  propositions  ;  —  and  went  with  their  "  points  " 
and  other  apparatus,  as  is  supposed,  to  the  Devil,  the  Father 
of  them.  Some  say,  indeed,  these  Danes  were  not  Ultra- 
Chartists,  but  Ultra-Tories,  demanding  to  reap  where  they  had 
not  sown,  and  live  in  this  world  without  working,  though  all 
the  world  should  starve  for  it ;  which  likewise  seems  a  possible 
hypothesis.  Be  what  they  might,  they  went,  as  we  say,  to  the 
Devil ;  and  Edmund  doing  what  he  liked  with  his  own,  the 
Earth  was  got  cleared  of  them. 

Another  version  is,  that  Edmund  on  this  and  the  like  occa- 
sions stood  by  his  order;  the  oldest,  and  indeed  only  true 
order  of  Nobility  known  under  the  stars,  that  of  Just  Men 
and  Sons  of  God,  in  opposition  to  Unjust  and  Sons  of  Belial, 


CHAP.  III.  LANDLORD  EDMUND.  55 

—  which  latter  indeed  are  seco?id-o\dest,  but  yet  a  very  un  ven- 
erable order.  This,  truly,  seems  the  likeliest  hypothesis  of 
all.  Names  and  appearances  alter  so  strangely,  in  some  half- 
score  centuries  ;  and  all  fluctuates  chameleon-like,  taking  now 
this  hue,  now  that.  Thus  much  is  very  plain,  and  does  not 
change  hue :  Landlord  Edmund  was  seen  and  felt  by  all  men 
to  have  done  verily  a  man's  part  in  this  life-pilgrimage  of  his  ; 
and  benedictions,  and  outflowing  love  and  admiration  from 
the  universal  heart,  were  his  meed.  Well  done  !  Well  done  ! 
cried  the  hearts  of  all  men.  They  raised  his  slain  and  mar- 
tyred body ;  washed  its  wounds  with  fast-flowing  universal 
tears ;  tears  of  endless  pity,  and  yet  of  a  sacred  joy  and  tri- 
umph. The  beautif ulest  kind  of  tears,  —  indeed  perhaps  the 
beautifulest  kind  of  thing :  like  a  sky  all  flashing  diamonds 
and  prismatic  radiance;  all  weeping,  yet  shone  on  by  the 
everlasting  Sun:  —  and  this  is  not  a  sky,  it  is  a  Soul  and 
living  Face  !  Nothing  liker  the  Temple  of  the  Hiyhest,  bright 
with  some  real  effulgence  of  the  Highest,  is  seen  in  this 
world. 

Oh,  if  all  Yankee-land  follow  a  small  good  "  Sehniispel  the 
distinguished  Novelist"  with  blazing  torches,  dinner-invita- 
tions, universal  hep-hep-hurrah,  feeling  that  he,  though  small, 
is  something ;  how  might  all  Angle-land  once  follow  a  hero- 
martyr  and  great  true  Son  of  Heaven  !  It  is  the  very  joy  of 
man's  heart  to  admire,  where  he  can ;  nothing  so  lifts  him 
from  all  his  mean  imprisonments,  were  it  but  for  moments,  as 
true  admiration.  Thus  it  has  been  said,  "all  men,  especially 
all  women,  are  born  worshippers  ;  "  and  will  worship,  if  it  be 
but  possible.  Possible  to  worship  a  Something,  even  a  small 
one ;  not  so  possible  a  mere  loud-blaring  Nothing !  What 
sight  is  more  pathetic  than  that  of  poor  multitudes  of  persons 
met  to  gaze  at  Kings'  Progresses,  Lord  Mayors'  Shows,  and 
other  gilt-gingerbread  phenomena  of  the  worshipful  sort,  in 
these  times  ;  each  so  eager  to  worship  ;  each,  with  a  dim  fatal 
sense  of  disappointment,  finding  that  he  cannot  rightly  here  ! 
These  be  thy  gods,  O  Israel  ?  And  thou  art  so  willing  to 
worship,  —  poor  Israel ! 

In  this  manner,  however,  did  the  men  of  the  Eastern  Coun- 


56  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  II. 

ties  take  up  the  slain  body  of  their  Edmund,  where  it  lay 
cast  forth  in  the  village  of  Hoxne  ;  seek  out  the  severed  head, 
and  reverently  reunite  the  same.  They  embalmed  him  with 
myrrh  and  sweet  spices,  with  love,  pity,  and  all  high  and 
awful  thoughts ;  consecrating  him  with  a  very  storm  of  melo- 
dious adoring  admiration,  and  sun-dyed  showers  of  tears  ;  — 
joyfully,  yet  with  awe  (as  all  deep  joy  has  something  of  the 
awful  in  it),  commemorating  his  noble  deeds  and  godlike  walk 
and  conversation  while  on  Earth.  Till,  at  length,  the  very 
Pope  and  Cardinals  at  Koine  were  forced  to  hear  of  it ;  and 
they,  summing  up  as  correctly  as  they  well  could,  with  Adco- 
catus-Diaboli  pleadings  and  their  other  forms  of  process,  the 
general  verdict  of  mankind,  declared :  That  he  had,  in  very 
fact,  led  a  hero's  life  in  this  world ;  and  being  now  gone,  was 
gone,  as  they  conceived,  to  God  above,  and  reaping  his  reward 
there.  Such,  they  said,  was  the  best  judgment  they  could  form 
of  the  case ;  —  and  truly  not  a  bad  judgment.  Acquiesced  in, 
zealously  adopted,  with  full  assent  of  "  private  judgment,"  by 
all  mortals. 

The  rest  of  St.  Edmund's  history,  for  the  reader  sees  he  has 
now  become  a  Saint,  is  easily  conceivable.  Pious  munificence 
provided  him  a  loculus,  a  ferctrtim  or  shrine ;  built  for  him  a 
wooden  chapel,  a  stone  temple,  ever  widening  and  growing  by 
new  pious  gifts;  —  such  the  overflowing  heart  feels  it  a  bless- 
edness to  solace  itself  by  giving.  St.  Edmund's  Shrine  glit- 
ters now  with  diamond  flowerages,  with  a  plating  of  wrought 
gold.  The  wooden  chapel,  as  we  say,  has  'become  a  stone 
temple.  Stately  masonries,  long-drawn  arches,  cloisters,  sound- 
ing aisles  buttress  it,  begirdle  it  far  and  wide.  Kegimented 
companies  of  men,  of  whom  our  Jocelin  is  one,  devote  them- 
selves, in  every  generation,  to  meditate  here  on  man's  Noble- 
ness and  Awfulness,  and  celebrate  and  show  forth  the  same, 
as  they  best  can,  —  thinking  they  will  do  it  better  here,  in 
presence  of  God  the  Maker,  and  of  the  so  Awful  and  so  Noble 
made  by  Him.  In  one  word,  St.  Edmund's  Body  has  raised 
a  Monastery  round  it.  To  such  length,  in  such  manner,  has 
the  Spirit  of  the  Time  visibly  taken  body,  and  crystallized 


CHAP.  IV. 


ABBOT  HUGO.  5T 


itself  here.  New  gifts,  houses,  farms,  katalla 1  —  come  ever  in. 
King  Knut,  whom  men  call  Canute,  whom  the  Ocean-tide 
would  not  be  forbidden  to  wet,  —  we  heard  already  of  this 
wise  King,  with  his  crown  and  gifts ;  but  of  many  others, 
Kings,  Queens,  wise  men  and  noble  loyal  women,  let  Dryas- 
dust and  divine  Silence  be  the  record  !  Beodric's- Worth  has 
become  St.  Edmund's  Bury  ;  —  and  lasts  visible  to  this  hour. 
All  this  that  thou  now  seest,  and  namest  Bury  Town,  is  prop- 
erly the  Funeral  Monument  of  Saint  or  Landlord  Edmund. 
The  present  respectable  Mayor  of  Bury  may  be  said,  like  a 
Fakeer  (little  as  he  thinks  of  it),  to  have  his  dwelling  in  the 
extensive,  many-sculptured  Tombstone  of  St.  Edmund ;  in  one 
of  the  brick  niches  thereof  dwells  the  present  respectable 
Mayor  of  Bury. 

Certain  Times  do  crystallize  themselves  in  a  magnificent 
manner ;  and  others,  perhaps,  are  like  to  do  it  in  rather  a 
shabby  one  !  —  But  Richard  Arkwright  too  will  have  his  Mon- 
ument, a  thousand  years  hence :  all  Lancashire  and  Yorkshire, 
and  how  many  other  shires  and  countries,  with  their  machi- 
neries and  industries,  for  his  monument !  A  true  j»//ramid  or 
",/Zame-mountain,"  flaming  with  steam  fires  and  useful  labor 
over  wide  continents,  usefully  towards  the  Stars,  to  a  certain 
height ;  —  how  much  grander  than  your  foolish  Cheops  Pyra- 
mids or  Sakhara  clay  ones!  Let  us  withal  be  hopeful,  be 
content  or  patient. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ABBOT    HUGO. 

IT  is  true,  all  things  have  two  faces,  a  light  one  and  a  dark 
It  is  true,  in  three  centuries  much  imperfection  accumulates ; 
many  an  Ideal,  monastic  or  other,  shooting  forth  into  practice 
as  it  can,  grows  to  a  strange  enough  Reality ;  and  we  have  to 

1  Goods,  properties;  what  we  now  coll  chattels,  and  still  more  singularh 
cattle,  says  my  erudite  friend  ! 


58  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  It. 

ask  with  amazement,  Is  this  your  Ideal !  For,  alas,  the  Ideal 
always  has  to  grow  in  the  Real,  and  to  seek  out  its  bed  and 
board  there,  often  in  a  very  sorry  way.  No  beautifulest  Poet 
is  a  Bird-of-Paradise,  living  on  perfumes ;  sleeping  in  the  ether 
with  outspread  wings.  The  Heroic,  independent  of  bed  and 
board,  is  found  in  Drury-Lane  Theatre  only ;  to  avoid  disap- 
pointments, let  us  bear  this  in  mind. 

By  the  law  of  Nature,  too,  all  manner  of  Ideals  have  their 
fatal  limits  and  lot ;  their  appointed  periods,  of  youth,  of 
maturity  or  perfection,  of  decline,  degradation,  and  final  deafch 
and  disappearance.  There  is  nothing  born  but  has  to  die. 
Ideal  monasteries,  once  grown  real,  do  seek  bed  and  board  in 
this  world ;  do  find  it  more  and  more  successfully ;  do  get  at 
length  too  intent  on  finding  it,  exclusively  intent  on  that. 
They  are  then  like  diseased  corpulent  bodies  fallen  idiotic, 
which  merely  eat  and  sleep;  ready  for  "dissolution,"  by  a 
Henry  the  Eighth  or  some  other.  Jocelin's  St.  Edmundsbury 
is  still  far  from  this  last  dreadful  state :  but  here  too  the 
reader  will  prepare  himself  to  see  an  Ideal  not  sleeping  in 
the  ether  like  a  bird-of-paradise,  but  roosting  as  the  common 
wood-fowl  do,  in  an  imperfect,  uncomfortable,  more  or  less 
contemptible  manner !  — 

Abbot  Hugo,  as  Jocelin,  breaking  at  once  into  the  heart  of 
the  business,  apprises  us,  had  in  those  days  grown  old,  grown 
rather  blind,  and  his  eyes  were  somewhat  darkened,  aliquan- 
tulum  (•(difjuvewint  ocull  ejus.  He  dwelt  apart  very  much, 
in  his  Talamus  or  peculiar  Chamber  ;  got  into  the  hands  of 
flatterers,  a  set  of  mealy-mouthed  persons  who  strove  to  make 
the  passing  hour  easy  for  him, — for  him  easy,  and  for  them- 
selves profitable  ;  accumulating  in  the  distance  mere  mountains 
of  confusion.  Old  Dominus  Hugo  sat  inaccessible  in  this  way, 
far  in  the  interior,  wrapt  in  his  warm  flannels  and  delusions ; 
inaccessible  to  all  voice  of  Fact ;  and  bad  grew  ever  worse 
with  us.  Not  that  our  worthy  old  Dominus  Abbas  was  inat- 
tentive to  the  divine  offices,  or  to  tin;  maintenance  of  a  devout 
spirit  in  us  or  in  himself;  but  the  Account-Books  of  the  Con- 
vent fell  into  the  frightfulest  state,  and  Hugo's  annual  Budget 


CHAF.  IV. 


ABBOT  HUGO.  59 


grew  yearly  emptier,  or  filled  with  futile  expectations,  fatal 
deficit,  wind  and  debts  ! 

His  one  worldly  care  was  to  raise  ready  money ;  sufficient 
for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof.  And  how  he  raised  it :  From 
usurious  insatjable_jlaw»-r  every  fresh  Jew  sticking  on  him 
like  a  fresh  liorseleech,  sucking  his  and  our  life  out ;  crying 
continually,  Give,  give  !  Take  one  example  instead  of  scores. 
Our  Camera  having  fallen  into  ruin,  William  the  Sacristan 
received  charge  to  repair  it ;  strict  charge,  but  no  money  ; 
Abbot  Hugo  would,  and  indeed  could,  give  him  no  fraction 
of  money.  The  Camera  in  ruins,  and  Hugo  penniless  and 
inaccessible,  Willelmus  Sacrista  borrowed  Forty  Marcs  (some 
Seven-and-twenty  Pounds)  of  Benedict  the  Jew,  and  patched 
up  our  Camera  again.  But  the  means  of  repaying  him  ?  There 
were  no  means.  Hardly  could  Sacrista,  Cellerarir-s,  or  any 
public  officer,  get  ends  to  meet,  on  the  indispensallest  scale, 
with  their  shrunk  allowances  :  ready  money  had  var  \shed. 

Benedict's  Twenty-seven  pounds  grew  rapidly  at  compound- 
interest  ;  and  at  length,  when  it  had  amounted  to  a  Hundred 
pounds,  he,  on  a  day  of  settlement,  presents  the  '<  ccount  to 
Hugo  himself.  Hugo  already  owed  him  another  B'.rndred  of 
Ixis  own;  and  so  here  it  has  become  Two  Hundred!  'lugo,  in 
a  fine  frenzy,  threatens  to  depose  the  Sacristan,  to  do  this  and 
do  that ;  but,  in  the  mean  while,  How  to  quiet  your  insatiable 
Jew  ?  Hugo,  for  this  couple  of  hundreds,  grants  the  Jew  his 
bond  for  Four  hundred  payable  at  the  end  of  four  years.  At 
the  end  of  four  years  there  is,  of  course,  still  no  monev ;  and 
the  Jew  now  gets  a  bond  for  Eight  hundred  and  eighty  pounds, 
to  be  paid  by  instalments,  Fourscore  pounds  every  year.  Here 
was  a  way  of  doing  business  ! 

Neither  yet  is  this  insatiable  Jew  satisfied  or  settled  with : 
he  had  papers  against  us  of  "  small  debts  fourteen  years  old ; " 
his  modest  claim  amounts  finally  to  "  Twelve  hundred  pounds 
besides  interest ;  "  —  and  one  hopes  he  never  got  satisfied  in 
this  world ;  one  almost  hopes  he  was  one  of  those  beleaguered 
Jews  who  hanged  themselves  in  York  Castle  shortly  after- 
wards, and  had  his  usances  and  quittances  and  horseleech 
papers  summarily  set  fire  to!  For  approximate  justice  \vili 


60  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  II 

strive  to  accomplish  itself ;  if  not  in  one  way,  then  in  anothe* 
Jews,  and  also  Christians  and  Heathens,  who  accumulate  in 
this  manner,  though  furnished  with  never  so  many  parchments, 
do,  at  times,  "  get  their  grinder-teeth  successively  pulled  out 
of  their  head,  each  day  a  new  grinder,"  till  they  consent  to 
disgorge  again.  A  sad  fact,  —  worth  reflecting  on. 

Jocelin,  we  see,  is  not  without  secularity  :  Our  Dominus 
Abbas  was  intent  enough  on  the  divine  offices ;  but  then  his 
Account-Books  —  ?  One  of  the  things ''tljat  strike  us  most, 
throughout,  in  Jocelin's  Chronicle)  and  irideefl  in  Eadiner's 
Anselm,  and  other  old  monastic  Books,  written  evidently  by 
pious  men,  is  this,  That  there  is  almost  no  mention  whatever  of 
"  personal  religion  "  in  them ;  that  the  whole  gist  of  their  think- 
ing and  speculation  seems  to  be  the  "  privileges  of  our  order," 
"strict  exaction  of  our  dues,"  "  God's  honor  "  (meaning  the  honor 
of  our  Saint),  and  so  forth.  Is  not  this  singular  ?  A  body  of 
men,  set  apart  for  perfecting  and  purifying  their  own  souls,  do 
not  seem  disturbed  about  that  in  any  measure :  the  "  Ideal " 
says  nothing  about  its  idea ;  says  much  about  finding  bed  and 
board  for  itself !  How  is  this  ? 

Why,  for  one  thing,  bed  and  board  are  a  matter  very  apt  to 
come  to  speech :  it  is  much  easier  to  speak  of  them  than  of 
ideas  ;  and  they  are  sometimes  much  more  pressing  with  some  ! 
Nay,  for  another  thing,  may  not  this  religious  reticence,  in 
these  devout  good  souls,  be  perhaps  a  merit,  and  sign  of  health 
in  them  ?  Jocelin,  Eadmer,  and  such  religious  men,  have  as 
yet  nothing  of  "  Methodism ; "  no  Doubt  or  even  root  of  Doubt. 
Religion  is  not  a  diseased  self-introspection,  an  agonizing  in- 
quiry :  their  duties  are  clear  to  them,  the  way  of  supreme  good 
plain,  indisputable,  and  they  are  travelling  on  it.  Religion 
lies  over  them  like  an  all-embracing  heavenly  eanopy,  like  an 
atmosphere  and  life-element,  which  is  not  spoken  of,  which  in 
all  things  is  presupposed  without  speech.  Is  not  serene  or 
complete  Religion  the  highest  aspect  of  human  nature  ;  as 
serene  Cant,  or  complete  No-religion,  is  the  lowest  and  mis- 
erablest  ?  Between  which  two,  all  manner  of  earnest  Method- 
isms,  introspections,  agonizing  inquiries,  never  so  morbid,  shall 
play  their  respective  parts,  not  without  approbation. 


CHAP.  IV.  ABBOT  HUGO.  61 

But  let  any  reader  fancy  himself  one  of  the  Brethren  in 
St.  Edmundsbury  Monastery  under  such  circumstances  !  How 
can  a  Lord  Abbot,  all  stuck  over  with  horseleeches  of  this 
nature,  front  the  world  ?  He  is  fast  losing  his  life-blood, 
and  the  Convent  will  be  as  one  of  Pharaoh's  lean  kine.  Old 
monks  of  experience  draw  their  hoods  deeper  down ;  careful 
what  they  say :  the  monk's  first  duty  is  obedience.  Our  Lord 
the  King,  hearing  of  such  work,  sends  down  his  Almoner  to 
make  investigations  :  but  what  boots  it  ?  Abbot  Hugo  assem- 
bles us  in  Chapter ;  asks,  "  If  there  is  any  complaint  ?  "  Not 
a  soul  of  us  dare  answer,  "  Yes,  thousands  ! "  but  we  all  stand 
silent,  and  the  Prior  even  says  that  things  are  in  a  very  com- 
fortable condition.  Whereupon  old  Abbot  Hugo,  turning  to 
the  royal  messenger,  says,  "  You  see  ! "  —  and  the  business 
terminates  in  that  way.  I,  as  a  brisk-eyed  noticing  youth  and 
novice,  could  not  help  asking  of  the  elders,  asking  of  Magister 
Samson  in  particular :  Why  he,  well  instructed  and  a  knowing 
man,  had  not  spoken  out,  and  brought  matters  to  a  bearing  ? 
Magister  Samson  was  Teacher  of  the  Novices,  appointed  to 
breed  us  up  to  the  rules,  and  I  loved  him  well.  "Fill  mi,'1 
answered  Samson,  "the  burnt  child  shuns  the  fire.  Dost  thou 
not  know,  our  Lord  the  Abbot  sent  me  once  to  Acre  in  Norfolk, 
to  solitary  confinement  and  bread-and-water,  already  ?  The 
Hinghams,  Hugo  and  Kobert,  have  just  got  home  from  banish- 
ment for  speaking.  This  is  the  hour  of  darkness :  the  hour 
when  flatterers  rule  and  are  believed.  Videat  Domimts,  let 
the  Lord  see,  and  judge." 

In  very  truth,  what  could  poor  old  Abbot  Hugo  do  ?  A  frail 
old  man,  and  the  Philistines  were  upon  him,  —  that  is  to  say, 
the  Hebrews.  He  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  shrink  away  from 
them  ;  get  back  into  his  warm  flannels,  into  his  warm  delusions 
again.  Happily,  before  it  was  quite  too  late,  he  bethought  him 
of  pilgriming  to  St.  Thomas  of  Canterbury.  He  set  out,  with  a 
fit  train,  in  the  autumn  days  of  the  year  1180;  near  Rochester 
City,  his  mule  threw  him,  dislocated  his  poor  knee-pan,  raised 
incurable  inflammatory  fever ;  and  the  poor  old  man  got  his 
dismissal  from  the  whole  ooil  at  once.  St.  Thomas  k  Beeket, 
though  in  a  circuitous  way,  had  brought  deliverance  ! 


62  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  II. 

Jew  usurers,  nor  grumbling  monks,  nor  other  importunate 
despicability  of  men  or  mud-elements  afflicted  Abbot  Hugo 
any  more  ;  but  he  dropt  his  rosaries,  closed  his  a.ccount-books, 
closed  his  old  eyes,  and  lay  down  into  the  long  sleep.  Heavy- 
laden  hoary  old  Dominus  Hugo,  fare  thee  well. 

One  thing  we  cannot  mention  without  a  due  thrill  of  horror : 
namely,  that,  in  the  empty  exchequer  of  Dominus  Hugo,  there 
was  not  found  one  penny  to  distribute  to  the  Poor  that  they 
might  pray  for  his  soul !  By  a  kind  of  godsend,  Fifty  shillings 
did,  in  the  very  nick  of  time,  fall  due,  or  seem  to  fall  due,  from 
one  of  his  Farmers  (the  Firmarius  de  Palegrava),  and  he  paid 
it,  and  the  Poor  had  it ;  though,  alas,  this  too  only  seemed  to 
fall  due,  and  we  had  it  to  pay  again  afterwards.  Dominus 
Hugo's  apartments  were  plundered  by  his  servants,  to  the 
last  portable  stool,  in  a  few  minutes  after  the  breath  was  out 
of  his  body.  Forlorn  old  Hugo,  fare  thee  well  forever. 


CHAPTER  V. 

TWELFTH    CENTURY. 

OUR  Abbot  being  dead,  the  Dominus  Rex,  Henry  II.,  or 
Hanulf  de  Glanvill  Justicianus  of  England  for  him,  set  In- 
spectors or  Custodiars  over  us ;  —  not  in  any  breathless  haste 
to  appoint  a  new  Abbot,  our  revenues  coming  into  his  own 
Scaccari'itm,  or  royal  Exchequer,  in  the  mean  while.  They 
proceeded  with  some  rigor,  these  Custodiars  ;  took  written 
inventories,  clapt  on  seals,  exacted  everywhere  strict  tale  and 
measure :  but  wherefore  should  a  living  monk  complain  ? 
The  living  monk  has  to  do  his  devotional  drill-exercise ;  con- 
sume his  allotted  pitantia,  what  we  call  pittance,  or  ration 
of  victual ;  and  possess  his  soul  in  patience. 

Dim,  as  through  a  long  vista  of  Seven  Centuries,  dim  and 
very  strange  looks  that  monk-life  to  us ;  the  ever-surprising 
circumstance  this,  That  it  is  a  fact  and  no  dream,  that  we  see 


CHAP.  V.  TWELFTH   CENTURY.  G3 

it  there,  and  gaze  into  the  very  eyes  of  it !  Smoke  rises 
daily  from  those  culinary  chimney-throats  ;  there  are  living 
human  beings  there,  who  chant,  loud-braying,  their  matins, 
nones,  vespers ;  awakening  ecJioes,  not  to  the  bodily  ear  alone. 
St.  Edmund's  Shrine,  perpetually  illuminated,  glows  ruddy 
through  the  Night,  and  through  the  Night  of  Centui-ies 
withal ;  St.  Edmundsbury  Town  paying  yearly  Forty  pounds 
for  that  express  end.  Bells  clang  out;  on  great  occasions, 
all  the  bells.  We  have  Processions,  Preachings,  Festivals, 
Christmas  Plays,  Mysteries  shown  in  the  Churchyard,  at  which 
latter  the  Townsfolk  sometimes  quarrel.  Time  was,  Time 
is,  as  Friar  Bacon's  Brass  Head  remarked ;  and  withal  Time 
will  be.  There  are  three  Tenses,  Tenywra,  or  Times ;  and 
there  is  one  Eternity  ;  and  as  for  us, 

"  We  are  such  stuff  as  Dreams  are  made  of !  " 

Indisputable,  though  very  dim  to  modern  vision,  rests  on  its 
hill-slope  that  same  Bury,  Stow,  or  Town  of  St.  Edmund ; 
already  a  considerable  place,  not  without  traffic,  nay  manu- 
factures, would  Jocelin  only  tell  us  what.  Jocelin  is  totally 
careless  of  telling :  but,  through  dim  fitful  apertures,  we  can 
see  FuHones,  "Fullers,"  see  cloth-making;  looms  dimly  going, 
dye-vats,  and  old  women  spinning  yarn.  We  have  Fairs  too, 
Nundimr,  in  due  course ;  and  the  Londoners  give  us  much 
trouble,  pretending  that  they,  as  a  metropolitan  people,  are 
exempt  from  toll.  Besides  there  is  Field-husbandry,  with 
perplexed  settlement  of  Convent  rents :  corn-ricks  pile  them- 
selves within  burgh,  in  their  season;  and  cattle  depart  and 
enter ;  and  even  the  poor  weaver  has  his  cow,  —  "  dung-heaps  " 
lying  quiet  at  most  doors  (ante  foras,  says  the  incidental 
Jocelin),  for  the  Town  has  yet  no  improved  police.  Watch 
and  ward  nevertheless  we  do  keep,  and  have  Gates,  —  as  what 
Town  must  not ;  thieves  so  abounding ;  war,  irerra,  such  a 
frequent  thing!  Our  thieves,  at  the  Abbot's  judgment-bar, 
deny  ;  claim  wager  of  battle ;  fight,  are  beaten,  and  then 
hanged.  "  Ketel,  the  thief,''  took  this  course .;  and  it  did 
nothing  for  him,  —  merely  brought  us,  and  indeed  himself, 
new  trouble ! 


64  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  n. 

Every  way  a  most  foreign  Time.  What  difficulty,  for  ex- 
ample, has  our  Cellerarius  to  collect  the  repselver,  "reaping 
silver,"  or  penny,  which  each  householder  is  by  law  bound 
to  pay  for  cutting  down  the  Convent  grain!  Kicher  people 
pretend  that  it  is  commuted,  that  it  is  this  and  the  other; 
that,  in  short,  they  will  not  pay  it.  Our  Cellerarius  gives  up 
calling  on  the  rich.  In  the  houses  of  the  poor,  our  Cellerarius 
finding,  in  like  manner,  neither  penny  nor  good  promise, 
snatches,  without  ceremony,  what  vadium  (pledge,  wad)  he 
can  come  at :  a  joint-stool,  kettle,  nay  the  very  house-door, 
"  hostium  ; "  and  old  women,  thus  exposed  to  the  unfeeling 
gaze  of  the  public,  rush  out  after  him  with  their  distaffs  and 
the  angriest  shrieks  :  "  vetulcc  exibant  cum,  colis  suis,"  says 
Jocelin,  "  minantes  et  exprobrantes." 

What  a  historical  picture,  glowing  visible,  as  St.  Edmund's 
Shrine  by  night,  after  Seven  long  Centuries  or  so !  Vetulce 
cum  colis :  My  venerable  ancient  spinning  grandmothers,  — 
ah,  and  ye  too  have  to  shriek,  and  rush  out  with  your  distaffs ; 
*  'and  become  Female  Chartists,  and  scold  all  evening  with  void 
doorway  ;  —  and  in  old  Saxon,  as  we  in  modern,  would  fain 
demand  some  Five-point  Charter,  could  it  be  fallen  in  with, 
the  Earth  being  too  tyrannous!  —  Wise  Lord  Abbots,  hearing 
of  such  phenomena,  did  in  time  abolish  or  commute  the  reap- 
penny,  and  one  nuisance  was  abated.  But  the  image  of  these 
justly  offended  old  women,  in  their  old  wool  costumes,  with 
their  angry  features,  and  spindles  brandished,  lives  forever 
in  the  historical  memory.  Thanks  to  thee,  Jocelin  Bos  well. 
Jerusalem  was  taken  by  the  Crusaders,  and  again  lost  by 
them ;  and  Richard  Coeur-de-Lion  "  veiled  his  face "  as  he 
passed  in  sight  of  it:  but  how  many  other  things  went  on, 
the  while ! 

Thus,  too,  our  trouble  with  the  Lakenheath  eels  is  very 
great.  King  Knut  namely,  or  rather  his  Queen  who  also  did 
herself  honor  by  honoring  St.  Edmund,  decreed  by  authentic 
deed  yet  extant  on  parchment,  that  the  Holders  of  the  Town 
Fields,  once  Beodric's,  should,  for  one  thing,  go  yearly  and 
catch  us  four  thousand  eels  in  the  marsh-pools  of  Lakenheath. 
Well,  they  went,  they  continued  to  go;  but,  in  later  times, 


CHAP.  V.  TWELFTH   CENTURY.  65 

got  into  the  way  of  returning  with  a  most  short  account  of 
eels.  Not  the  due  sixscore  apiece;  no,  Here  are  twoscore, 
Here  are  twenty,  ten,  —  sometimes,  Here  are  none  at  all ; 
Heaven  help  us,  we  could  catch  no  more,  they  were  not  there  ! 
What  is  a  distressed  Cellerarius  to  do  ?  We  agree  that  each 
Holder  of  so  many  acres  shall  pay  one  penny  yearly,  and  let 
go  the  eels  as  too  slippery.  But,  alas,  neither  is  this  quite 
effectual :  the  Fields,  in  my  time,  have  got  divided  among  so 
many  hands,  there  is  no  catching  of  them  either ;  I  have 
known  our  Cellarer  get  seven-and-twenty  pence  formerly,  and 
now  it  is  much  if  he  get  ten  pence  farthing  (vix  decent  denarios 
et  obolum).  And  then  their  sheep,  which  they  are  bound  to 
fold  nightly  in  our  pens,  for  the  manure's  sake ;  and,  I  fear, 
do  not  always  fold :  and  their  aver-pennies,  and  their  avra 
yiums,  and  their  fodercoms,  and  mill-and-market  dues  !  Thus, 
in  its  undeniable  but  dim  manner,  does  old  St.  Edmundsbury 
spin  and  till,  and  laboriously  keep  its  pot  boiling,  and  St. 
Edmund's  Shrine  lighted,  under  such  conditions  and  averages 
as  it  can. 

How  much  is  still  alive  in  England ;  how  much  has  not  yet 
come  into  life !  A  Feudal  Aristocracy  is  still  alive,  in  the 
prime  of  life  ;  superintending  the  cultivation  of  the  land,  and 
less  consciously  the  distribution  of  the  produce  of  the  land, 
the  adjustment  of  the  quarrels  of  the  land ;  judging,  soldier- 
ing, adjusting;  everywhere  governing  the  people, — so  that 
even  a  Gurth,  born  thrall  of  Cedric,  lacks  not  his  due  parings 
of  the  pigs  he  tends.  Governing ;  —  and,  alas,  also  game- 
preserving;  so  that  a  Robert  Hood,  a  William  Scarlet  and 
others  have,  in  these  days,  put  on  Lincoln  coats,  and  taken  to 
living,  in  some  universal-suffrage  manner,  under  the  green- 
wood-tree ! 

How  silent,  on  the  other  hand,  lie  all  Cotton  -trades  and 
such  like  ;  not  a  steeple-chimney  yet  got  on  end  from  sea  to 
sea !  North  of  the  IIuml>er,  a  stern  Willelmus  Conqturstor 
burnt  the  Country,  finding  it  unruly,  into  very  stern  rej>ose. 
Wild  fowl  scream  in  those  ancient  silences,  wild  cattle  roam 
in  those  ancient  solitudes ;  the  scanty  sulky  Norse-bred  popn- 
vm  xii.  5 


66  PAST   AND   PRESENT.  BOOK  II. 

lation  all  coerced  into  silence,  —  feeling  that,  under  these  new 
Norman  Governors,  their  history  has  probably  as  good  as 
ended.  Men  and  Northumbrian  Norse  populations  know  little 
what  has  ended,  what  is  but  beginning  !  The  Kibble  and  the 
Aire  roll  down,  as  yet  unpolluted  by  dyers'  chemistry ;  tenanted 
by  merry  trouts  and  piscatory  otters  ;  the  sunbeam  and  the 
vacant  wind's-blast  alone  traversing  those  moors.  Side  by  side 
sleep  the  coal-strata  and  the  iron-strata  for  so  many  ages  ;  no 
Steam-Demon  has  yet  risen  smoking  into  being.  Saint  Mungo 
rules  in  Glasgow  ;  James  Watt  still  slumbering  in  the  deep  of 
Time.  Mancunium,  Manceaster,  what  we  now  call  Manchester, 
spins  no  cotton,  —  if  it  be  not  wool  "  cottons,"  clipped  from 
the  backs  of  mountain  sheep.  The  Creek  of  the  Mersey  gur- 
gles, twice  in  the  four-and-twenty  hours,  with  eddying  brine, 
clangorous  with  sea-fowl ;  and  is  a  Lither-Pool,  a  lazy  or  sullen 
Pool,  no  monstrous  pitchy  City,  and  Sea-haven  of  the  world ! 
The  Centuries  are  big ;  and  the  birth-hour  is  coming,  not  yet 
come.  Tempus  ferax,  tempus  edax  rerum. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MONK    SAMSON. 

WITHIN  doors,  down  at  the  hill-foot,  in  our  Convent  here, 
we  are  a  peculiar  people,  —  hardly  conceivable  in  the  Ark- 
wright  Corn-Law  ages,  of  mere  Spinning-Mills  and  Joe- 
Mantons !  There  is  yet  no  Methodism  among  us,  and  wo 
speak  much  of  Secularities :  no  Methodism  ;  our  Religion  is 
not  yet  a  horrible  restless  Doubt,  still  less  a  far  horrible r  com- 
posed Cant;  but  a  great  heaven-high  Unquestionability,  en- 
compassing, interpenetrating  the  whole  of  Life.  Imperfect  as> 
we  may  be,  we  are  here,  with  our  litanies,  shaven  crowns, 
vows  of  poverty,  to  testify  incessantly  and  indisputably  to 
every  heart,  That  this  Earthly  Life  and  its  riches  and  posses- 
sions, and  good  and  evil  hap,  are  not  intrinsically  a  reality  at 


CHAP.  VI.  MONK   SAMSON.  67 

all,  but  are  a  shadow  of  realities  eternal,  infinite ;  that  this 
Time-world,  as  an  air-image,  fearfully  emblematic,  plays  and 
flickers  in  the  grand  still  mirror  of  Eternity ;  and  man's  little 
Life  has  Duties  that  are  great,  that  are  alone  great,  and  go  up 
to  Heaven  and  down  to  Hell.  This,  with  our  poor  litanies,  we 
testify,  and  struggle  to  testify. 

Which,  testified  or  not,  remembered  by  all  men  or  forgotten 
by  all  men,  does  verily  remain  the  fact,  even  in  Arkwright 
Joe-Manton  ages  !  But  it  is  incalculable,  when  litanies  have 
grown  obsolete ;  when  fodercorns,  avrayiums,  and  all  humar 
dues  .and  reciprocities  have  been  fully  changed  into  one  grest 
due  of  cash  payment ;  and  man's  duty  to  man  reduces  itself  t«. 
handing  him  certain  metal  coins,  or  covenanted  money-wagea 
and  then  shoving  him  out  of  doors  ;  and  man's  chity  to  God 
becomes  a  cant,  a  doubt,  a  dim  inanity,  a  "  pleasure  of  virtue  " 
or  such  like  ;  and  the  thing  a  man  does  infinitely  fear  (the  real 
Hell  of  a  man)  is,  "  that  he  do  not  make  money  and  advance 
himself," — I  say,  it  is  incalculable  what  a  change  has  intro- 
duced itself  everywhere  into  human  affairs !  How  human  af- 
fairs shall  now  circulate  everywhere  not  healthy  life-blood  in 
them,  but,  as  it  were,  a  detestable  copperas  banker's  ink ;  and 
all  is  grown  acrid,  divisive,  threatening  dissolution ;  and  the 
huge  tumultuous  Life  of  Society  is  galvanic,  devil-ridden,  too 
truly  possessed  by  a  devil !  For,  in  short,  Mammon  is  not  a 
god  at  all ;  but  a  devil,  and  even  a  very  despicable  devil. 
Follow  the  Devil  faithfully,  you  are  sure  enough  to  go  to  the 
Devil:  whither  else  can  you  go?  —  In  such  situations,  men 
look  back  with  a  kind  of  mournful  recognition  even  on  poof 
limited  Monk-figures,  with  their  poor  litanies;  and  reflect, 
with  Ben  Jonson,  that  soul  is  indispensable,  some  degree  ol 
soul,  even  to  save  you  the  expense  of  salt !  — 

For  the  rest,  it  must  be  owned,  we  Monks  of  St.  Edmunds- 
bury  are  but  a  limited  class  of  creatures,  and  seem  to  have  a 
somewhat  dull  life  of  it.  Much  given  to  idle  gossip ;  having 
indeed  no  other  work,  when  our  chanting  is  over.  Listless 
gossip,  for  most  part,  and  a  mitigated  slander ;  the  fruit  of 
idleness,  not  of  spleen.  We  are  dull,  insipid  men,  many  of  us ; 
«asy -minded  ;  whom  prayer  and  digestion  of  food  will  avail 


68  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  a 

for  a  life.  We  have  to  receive  all  strangers  in  our  Convent, 
and  lodge  them  gratis  ;  such  and  such  sorts  go  by  rule  to  the 
Lord  Abbot  and  his  special  revenues ;  such  and  such  to  us 
and  our  poor  Cellarer,  however  straitened.  Jews  themselves 
send  their  wives  and  little  ones  hither  in  war-time,  into  our 
Pitcmceria  ;  where  they  abide  safe,  with  due  pittances,  —  for  a 
consideration.  We  have  the  fairest  chances  for  collecting 
news.  Some  of  us  have  a  turn  for  reading  Books ;  for  medi- 
tation, silence  ;  at  times  we  even  write  Books.  Some  of  us 
can  preach,  in  English-Saxon,  in  Norman-French,  and  even  in 
Monk-Latin ;  others  cannot  in  any  language  or  jargon,  being 
stupid. 

Failing  all  else,  what  gossip  about  one  another  !  This  is  a 
perennial  resource.  How  one  hooded  head  applies  itself  to 
the  ear  of  another,  and  whispers  —  tacenda.  Willelmus  Sa- 
crista,  for  instance,  what  does  he  nightly,  over  in  that  Sacristy 
of  his  ?  Frequent  bibations,  " frey uentes  bihationes  et  qucedam 
tacenda"  —  eheu !  We  have  "  tempora  minutionis."  stated  sea- 
sons of  blood-letting,  when  we  are  all  let  blood  together  ;  and 
then  there  is  a  general  free-conference,  a  sanhedrim  of  clatter. 
Notwithstanding  our  vow  of  poverty,  we  can  by  rule  amass  to 
the  extent  of  "  two  shillings ; "  but  it  is  to  be  given  to  our 
necessitous  kindred,  or  in  charity.  Poor  Monks  !  Thus  too  a 
certain  Canterbury  Monk  was  in  the  habit  of  "slipping,  clan- 
culo,  from  his  sleeve,"  five  shillings  into  the  hand  of  his 
mother,  when  she  came  to  see  him,  at  the  divine  offices,  every 
two  months.  Once,  slipping  the  money  clandestinely,  just  in 
the  act  of  taking  leave,  he  slipt  it  not  into  her  hand  but  on 
the  floor,  and  another  had  it ;  whereupon  the  poor  Monk,  com- 
ing to  know  it,  looked  mere  despair  for  some  days ;  tillLanfranc 
the  noble  Archbishop,  questioning  his  secret  from  him,  nobly 
made  the  sum  seven  shillings,1  and  said,  Never  mind ! 

One  Monk,  of  a  taciturn  nature,  distinguishes  himself  among 
these  babbling  ones :  the  name  of  him  Samson  ;  he  that  an- 
swered Jocelin,  "  Fili  mi,  a  burnt  child  shuns  the  fire." 
They  call  him  "  Norfolk  Barrator,"  or  litigious  person ;  foi 

1  Eadmeri  Hist.  p.  8. 


CHAP.  VI.  MONK  SAMSON.  69 

indeed,  being  of  grave  taciturn  ways,  he  is  not  universally  a 
favorite  ;  he  has  been  in  trouble  more  than  once.  The  reader 
is  desired  to  mark  this  Monk.  A  personable  man  of  seven- 
and-forty ;  stout-niade,  stands  erect  as  a  pillar ;  with  bushy 
eyebrows,  the  eyes  of  him  beaming  into  you  iu  a  really  strange 
way  ;  the  face  massive,  grave,  with  "  a  very  eminent  nose  ; ' 
his  head  almost  bald,  its  auburn  remnants  of  hair,  and  the 
Copious  ruddy  beard,  getting  slightly  streaked  with  gray. 
This  is  Brother  Samson ;  a  man  worth  looking  at. 

He  is  from  Norfolk,  as  the  nickname  indicates  ;  from  Totting- 
ton  in  Norfolk,  as  we  guess ;  the  son  of  poor  parents  there. 
lie  has  told  me  Jocelin,  for  I  loved  him  much,  That  once  in 
his  ninth  year  he  had  an  alarming  dream  ;  —  as  indeed  we  are 
all  somewhat  given  to  dreaming  here.  Little  Samson,  lying 
uneasily  in  his  crib  at  Tottington,  dreamed  that  he  saw  the 
Arch  Enemy  in  person,  just  alighted  in  front  of  some  grand 
building,  with  outspread  bat-wings,  and  stretching  forth  de- 
testable clawed  hands  to  grip  him,  little  Samson,  and  fly  off 
with  him :  whereupon  the  little  dreamer  shrieked  desperate 
to  St.  Edmund  for  help,  shrieked  and  again  shrieked  ;  and  St. 
Edmund,  a  reverend  heavenly  figure,  did  come,  —  and  indeed 
poor  little  Samson's  mother,  awakened  by  his  shrieking,  did 
come  ;  and  the  Devil  and  the  Dream  both  fled  away  fruitless. 
On  the  morrow,  his  mother,  pondering  such  an  awful  dream, 
thought  it  were  good  to  take  him  over  to  St.  Edmund's  own 
Shrine,  and  pray  with  him  there.  See,  said  little  Samson  at 
sight  of  the  Abbey-Gate ;  see,  mother,  this  is  the  building  I 
dreamed  of  !  His  poor  mother  dedicated  him  to  St.  Edmund, 
• — left  him  there  with  prayers  and  tears  :  what  better  could  she 
lo  ?  The  exposition  of  the  dream,  Brother  Samson  used  to  say, 
was  this  :  Dinbolua  with  outspread  bat-wings  shadowed  forth 
the  pleasures  of  this  world,  rotuptofwi  hujus  strnifi,  which 
were  about  to  snatch  and  fly  away  with  me,  had  not  St.  Ed- 
mund flung  his  arms  round  me,  that  is  to  say,  made  me  a  monk 
of  his.  A  monk,  accordingly,  Brother  Samson  is  ;  and  here 
to  this  day  where  his  mother  left  him.  A  learned  man,  of 
devout  grave  nature ;  has  studied  at  Paris,  has  taught  in  the 
Town  Schools  here,  and  done  much  else ;  can  preach  in  three 


70  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  II. 

languages,  and,  like  Dr.  Cains,  "  has  had  losses  "  in  his  time. 
A  thoughtful,  firm-standing  man ;  much  loved  by  some,  not 
loved  by  all ;  his  clear  eyes  flashing  into  you,  in  an  almost 
inconvenient  way ! 

Abbot  Hugo,  as  we  said,  had  his  own  difficulties  with  him ; 
Abbot  Hugo  had  him  in  prison  once,  to  teach  him  what  au- 
thority was,  and  how  to  dread  the  fire  in  future.  For  Brother 
Samson,  in  the  time  of  the  Autipopes,  had  been  sent  to  Kome 
on  business  ;  and,  returning  successful,  was  too  late,  —  the 
business  had  all  misgone  in  the  interim  !  As  tours  to  Rome 
are  still  frequent  with  us  English,  perhaps  the  reader  will  not 
grudge  to  look  at  the  method  of  travelling  thither  in  those 
remote  ages.  We  happily  have,  in  small  compass,  a  personal 
narrative  of  it.  Through  the  clear  eyes  and  memory  of  Brother 
Samson  one  peeps  direct  into  the  very  bosom  of  that  Twelfth 
Century,  and  finds  it  rather  curious.  The  actual  Papa,  Father, 
or  universal  President  of  Christendom,  as  yet  not  grown  chi- 
merical, sat  there  ;  think  of  that  only  !  Brother  Samson  went 
to  Rome  as  to  the  real  Light-fountain  of  this  lower  world  ;  we 
now  — !  But  let  us  hear  Brother  Samson,  as  to  his  mode  of 
travelling :  — 

"  You  know  what  trouble  I  had  for  that  Church  of  Woolpit ; 
how  I  was  despatched  to  Kome  in  the  time  of  the  Schism 
between  Pope  Alexander  and  Octavian  ;  and  passed  through 
Italy  at  that  season,  when  all  clergy  carrying  letters  for  our 
Lord  Pope  Alexander  were  laid  hold  of,  and  some  were  clapt 
in  prison,  some  hanged ;  and  some,  with  nose  and  lips  cut  off, 
were  sent  forward  to  our  Lord  the  Pope,  for  the  disgrace  and 
confusion  of  him  (in  dedecus  et  confusionem  ejm).  I,  however, 
pretended  to  be  Scotch,  and  putting  on  the  garb  of  a  Scotch- 
man, and  taking  the  gesture  of  one,  walked  along ;  and  when 
anybody  mocked  at  me,  I  would  brandish  my  staff  in  the 
manner  of  that  weapon  they  call  yaveloc,1  uttering  cominina- 
tory  words  after  the  way  of  the  Scotch.  To  those  that  met 
and  questioned  me  who  I  was,  I  made  no  answer  but :  Rule., 
ride  Rome  ;  turne  Cantivereberei.2  Thus  did  I,  to  conceal  myself 

1  Javelin,  missile  pike.     Gaveloc  is  .still  the  Scotch  name  for  crowbar. 

*  Does  this  mean,  "Koine  forever;  Canterbury  not "  (which  claims  an 


CHAP.  VI.  MONK  SAMSON.  71 

and  my  errand,  and  get  safer  to  Rome  under  the  guise  of  a 
Scotchman. 

"  Having  at  last  obtained  a  Letter  from  our  Lord  the  Pope 
according  to  my  wishes,  I  turned  homewards  again.  I  had  to 
pass  through  a  certain  strong  town  on  my  road ;  and  lo,  the 
soldiers  thereof  surrounded  me,  seizing  me,  and  saying :  '  This 
vagabond  (Iste  golivagus),  who  pretends  to  be  Scotch,  is  either 
a  spy,  or  has  Letters  from  the  false  Pope  Alexander.'  And 
whilst  they  examined  every  stitch  and  rag  of  me,  my  leggings 
(rnligas),  breeches,  and  even  the  old  shoes  that  I  carried  over 
my  shoulder  in  the  way  of  the  Scotch,  —  I  put  my  hand  into 
the  leather  scrip  I  wore,  wherein  our  Lord  the  Pope's  Letter 
lay,  close  by  a  little  jug  (ciffus)  I  had  for  drinking  out  of;  and 
the  Lord  God  so  pleasing,  and  St.  Edmund,  I  got  out  both  the 
Letter  and  the  jug  together;  in  such  a  way  that,  extending  my 
arm  aloft,  I  held  the  Letter  hidden  between  jug  and  hand :  they 
saw  the  jug,  but  the  Letter  they  saw  not.  And  thus  I  escaped 
out  of  their  hands  in  the  name  of  the  Lord.  Whatever  money 
I  had,  they  took  from  me ;  wherefore  I  had  to  beg  from  door 
to  door,  without  any  payment  (sine  omni  expensa)  till  I  came 
to  England  again.  But  hearing  that  the  Woolpit  Church  was 
already  given  to  Geoffry  Kidell,  my  soul  was  struck  with  sor- 
row because  I  had  labored  in  vain.  Coming  home,  therefore, 
I  sat  me  down  secretly  under  the  Shrine  of  St.  Edmund, 
fearing  lest  our  Lord  Abbot  should  seize  and  imprison  me, 
though  I  had  done  no  mischief;  nor  was  there  a  monk  who 
durst  speak  to  me,  nor  a  laic  who  durst  bring  me  food  except 
by  stealth."  l 

Such  resting  and  welcoming  found  Brother  Samson,  with  his 
worn  soles,  and  strong  heart !  He  sits  silent,  revolving  many 
thoughts,  at  the  foot  of  St.  Edmund's  Shrine.  In  the  wide 
Earth,  if  it  be  not  St.  Edmund,  what  friend  or  refuge  has  he  ? 
Our  Lord  Abbot,  hearing  of  him,  sent  the  proper  officer  to  lead 
him  down  to  prison,  and  clap  "foot-gyves  on  him"  there. 

unjust  supremacy  over  us)  !     Mr.  Rokewood  is  silent.     Dryasdust  would  per- 
haps explain  it,  —  in  the  course  of  a  week  or  two  of  talking;  did  one  dare  t« 
question  him  ! 
1  Jocelini  (Jhrunicn,  p.  36. 


72  PAST  AND  PEESENT.  BOOK  II. 

Another  poor  official  furtively  brought  him  a  cup  of  wine ; 
bade  him  "  be  comforted  in  the  Lord."  Samson  utters  no 
soinplaint ;  obeys  in  silence.  "  Our  Lord  Abbot,  taking  coun- 
sel of  it,  banished  me  to  Acre,  and  there  I  had  to  stay  long." 

Our  Lord  Abbot  next  tried  Samson  \vith  promotions  ;  made 
him  Subsacristan,  made  him  Librarian,  which  he  liked  best 
of  all,  being  passionately  fond  of  Books  :  Samson,  with  many 
thoughts  in  him,  again  obeyed  in  silence ;  discharged  his  offices 
to  perfection,  but  never  thanked  our  Lord  Abbot,  —  seemed 
rather  as  if  looking  into  him,  with  those  clear  eyes  of  his. 
Whereupon  Abbot  Hugo  said,  Se  nunguam  vidisse,  He  had 
never  seen  such  a  man  ;  whom  no  severity  would  break  to 
complain,  and  no  kindness  soften  into  smiles  or  thanks  :  —  a 
questionable  kind  of  man  ! 

In  this  way,  not  without  troubles,  but  still  in  an  erect  clear- 
standing  manner,  has  Brother  Samson  reached  his  forty-seventh 
year ;  and  his  ruddy  beard  is  getting  slightly  grizzled.  He 
is  endeavoring,  in  these  days,  to  have  various  broken  things 
thatched  in  ;  nay  perhaps  to  have  the  Choir  itself  completed, 
for  he  can  bear  nothing  ruinous.  He  has  gathered  "  heaps  of 
lime  and  sand ; "  has  masons,  slaters  working,  he  and  War-bius 
monachus  noster,  who  are  joint  keepers  of  the  Shrine  ;  paying 
out  the  money  duly,  —  furnished  by  charitable  burghers  of 
St.  Edmundsbury,  they  say.  Charitable  burghers  of  St.  Ed- 
mundsbury  ?  To  me  Jocelin  it  seems  rather,  Samson>  and 
Warinus  whom  he  leads,  have  privily  hoarded  the  oblations  at 
the  Shrine  itself,  in  these  late  years  of  indolent  dilapidation, 
while  Abbot  Hugo  sat  wrapt  inaccessible  ;  and  are  struggling, 
in  this  prudent  way,  to  have  the  rain  kept  out !  *  —  Under 
what  conditions,  sometimes,  has  Wisdom  to  struggle  with 
Folly ;  get  Folly  persuaded  to  so  much  as  thatch  out  the  rain 
from  itself !  For,  indeed,  if  the  Infant  govern  the  Nurse,  what 
dexterous  practice  on  the  Nurse's  part  will  not  be  necessary  ! 

It  is  a  new  regret  to  us  that,  in  these  circumstances,  our 

Lord  the  King's  Custodiars,  interfering,  prohibited  all  building 

or  thatching  from  whatever  source;  and  no  Choir  shall  be 

completed,  and  Rain  and  Time,  for  the  present,  shall  have 

1  Jocelini  t'hronica,  p.  7. 


CHAP.  VH.  THE  CANVASSING.  78 

their  way.  Willelmus  Sacrista,  he  of  "  the  frequent  bibations 
and  some  things  not  to  be  spoken  of ; "  he,  with  his  red  nose, 
I  am  of  opinion,  had  made  complaint  to  the  Custodiars ;  wish- 
ing to  do  Samson  an  ill  turn  :. —  Samson  his  £w6-sacristan,  with 
those  clear  eyes,  could  not  be  a  prime  favorite  of  his !  Samson 
again  obeys  in  sileuce. 


CHAPTER  VIL 

THE    CANVASSING. 

•f        v 

Now,  however,  come  great  news  to  St.  Edmundsbury :  That 
there  is  to  be  an  Abbot  elected ;  that  our  interlunar  obscura- 
tion is  to  cease ;  St.  Edmund's  Convent  no  more  to  be  a  dole- 
ful widow,  but  joyous  and  once  again  a  bride  !  Often  in  our 
widowed  state  had  we  prayed  to  the  Lord  and  St.  Edmund, 
singing  weekly  a  matter  of  "  one-and-twenty  penitential  Psalms, 
on  our  knees  in  the  Choir,"  that  a  fit  Pastor  might  be  vouch- 
safed us.  And,  says  Jocelin,  had  some  known  what  Abbot  we 
were  to  get,  they  had  not  been  so  devout,  I  believe !  —  Bozzy 
Jocelin  opens  to  mankind  the  floodgates  of  authentic  Convent 
gossip ;  we  listen,  as  in  a  Dionysius'  Ear,  to  the  inanest  hub- 
bub, like  the  voices  at  Virgil's  Horn-Gate  of  Dreams.  Even 
gossip,  seven  centuries  off,  has  significance.  List,  list,  how 
like  men  are  to  one  another  in  all  centuries :  — 

"  Dixit  quidum  de  quodam,  A  certain  person  said  of  a  cer- 
tain person,  '  He,  that  Frnter,  is  a  good  monk,  probabilis  per- 
sona ;  knows  much  of  the  order  and  customs  of  the  church  ; 
and,  though  not  so  perfect  a  philosopher  as  some  others,  would 
make  a  very  good  Abbot.  Old  Abbot  Ording,  still  famed 
among  us,  knew  little  of  letters.  Besides,  as  we  read  in  Fables, 
it  is  better  to  choose  a  log  for  king,  than  a  serpent  never  so 
wise,  that  will  venomously  hiss  and  bite  his  subjects.' — 'Im- 
possible ! '  answered  the  other :  '  How  can  such  a  man  make  a 
sermon  in  the  Chapter,  or  to  the  people  on  festival-days,  when 
he  is  without  letters  ?  How  can  he  have  the  skill  to  bind 


74  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  II. 

and  to  loose,  he  who  does  not  understand  the  Scriptures  ? 
How  —  ?"' 

And  then  "another  said  of  another,  alius  de  alio,  'That 
Prater  is  a  homo  literatus,  eloquent,  sagacious  ;  vigorous  in 
discipline;  loves  the  Convent  much,  has  suffered  much  for 
its  sake.'  To  which  a  third  party  answers,  '  From  all  your 
great  clerks,  good  Lord  deliver  us  !  From  Norfolk  barrators 
and  surly  persons,  That  it  would  please  thee  to  preserve  us, 
We  beseech  thee  to  hear  us,  good  Lord ! '  Then  another 
quidam  said  of  another  quodam,  '  That  Prater  is  a  good  man- 
ager (husebondus) ; '  but  was  swiftly  answered,  '  God  forbid 
that  a  man  who  can  neither  read  nor  chant,  nor  celebrate  the 
divine  offices,  an  unjust  person  withal,  and  grinder  of  the 
faces  of  the  poor,  should  ever  be  Abbot ! ' '  One  man,  it  ap- 
pears, is  nice  in  his  victuals.  Another  is  indeed  wise,  but  apt 
to  slight  inferiors  ;  hardly  at  the  pains  to  answer,  if  they 
argue  with  him  too  foolishly.  And  so  each  aliquis  concerning 
his  aliquo,  —  through  whole  pages  of  electioneering  babble. 
"  For,"  says  Jocelin,  "  So  many  men,  as  many  minds."  Our 
Monks  " at  time  of  blood-letting,  tempore  minutionis"  holding 
their  sanhedrim  of  babble,  would  talk  in  this  manner :  Brother 
Samson,  I  remarked,  never  said  anything;  sat  silent,  some- 
times smiling ;  but  he  took  good  note  of  what  others  said,  and 
:7ould  bring  it  up,  on  occasion,  twenty  years  after.  As  for  me 
Jocelin,  I  was  of  opinion  that  "  some  skill  in  Dialectics,  to  dis- 
tinguish true  from  false,"  would  be  good  in  an  Abbot.  L 
spake,  as  a  rash  Novice  in  those  days,  some  conscientious 
words  of  a  certain  benefactor  of  mine ;  "  and  behold,  one  of 
those  sons  of  Belial "  ran  and  reported  them  to  him,  so  that 
he  never  after  looked  at  me  with  the  same  face  again !  Poor 
Bozzy !  — 

Such  is  the  buzz  and  frothy  simmering  ferment  of  the  gen- 
eral mind  and  no-mind  ;  struggling  to  "  make  itself  up,"  as 
the  phrase  is,  or  ascertain  what  it  does  really  want :  no  easy 
matter,  in  most  cases.  St.  Edmundsbury,  in  that  Candlemas 
season  of  the  year  1182,  is  a  busily  fermenting  place.  The 
very  cloth-makers  sit  meditative  at  their  looms  ;  asking,  Who 
shall  be  Abbot  ?  The  sochemanni  speak  of  it,  driving  tlu-ir 


JHAP.  VTI.  THE  CANVASSING.  75 

ox-teams  afield ;  the  old  women  with  their  spindles  :  and  none 
yet  knows  what  the  days  will  bring  forth. 

The  Prior,  however,  as  our  interim  chief,  must  proceed  to 
work ;  get  ready  "  Twelve  Monks,"  and  set  off  with  them  to 
his  Majesty  at  Waltham,  there  shall  the  election  be  made. 
An  election,  whether  managed  directly  by  ballot-box  on  public 
hustings,  or  indirectly  by  force  of  public  opinion,  or  were  it 
even  by  open  alehouses,  landlords'  coercion,  popular  club-law, 
or  whatever  electoral  methods,  is  always  an  interesting  phe- 
nomenon. A  mountain  tumbling  in  great  travail,  throwing 
up  dust-clouds  and  absurd  noises,  is  visibly  there ;  .uncertain 
yet  what  mouse  or  monster  it  will  give  birth  to. 

Besides,  it  is  a  most  important  social  act ;  nay,  at  bottom, 
the  one  important  social  act.  Given  the  men  a  People  choose, 
the  People  itself,  in  its  exact  worth  and  worthlessness,  is 
given.  A  heroic  people  chooses  heroes,  and  is  happy ;  a  valet 
or  flunky  people  chooses  sham-heroes,  what  are  called  quacks, 
thinking  them  heroes,  and  is  not  happy.  The  grand  summary 
of  a  man's  spiritual  condition,  what  brings  out  all  his  herohood 
and  insight,  or  all  his  flunky-hood  and  horn-eyed  dimness,  is 
this  question  put  to  him,  "What  man  dost  thou  honor  ?  Which 
is  thy  ideal  of  a  man  ;  or  nearest  that  ?  So  too  of  a  People : 
for  a  People  too,  every  People,  speaks  its  choice,  —  were  it 
only  by  silently  obeying,  and  not  revolting, — in  the  course 
of  a  century  or  so.  Nor  are  electoral  methods,  Reform  Bills 
and  such  like,  unimportant.  A  People's  electoral  methods 
are,  in  the  long-run,  the  express  image  of  its  electoral  talent ; 
tending  and  gravitating  perpetually,  irresistibly,  to  a  conform- 
ity with  that :  and  are,  at  all  stages,  very  significant  of  the 
People.  Judicious  readers,  of  these  times,  are  not  disinclined 
to  see  how  Monks  elect  their  Abbot  in  the  Twelfth  Century  : 
how  the  St.  Edmundsbury  mountain  manages  its  midwifery  ; 
and  what  mouse  or  man  the  outcome  is. 


76  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  II. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    ELECTION. 

ACCORDINGLY  our  Prior  assembles  us  in  Chapter ;  and,  we 
adjuring  him  before  God  to  do  justly,  nominates,  not  by  our 
selection,  yet  with  our  assent,  Twelve  Monks,  moderately  sat- 
isfactory. Of  whom  are  Hugo  Third-Prior,  Brother  Dennis, 
a  venerable  man,  Walter  the  Medicus,  Samson  Subsacrista,  and 
other  esteemed  characters,  —  though  Willelmus  Sacrista,  of 
the  red  nose,  too  is  one.  These  shall  proceed  straightway  to 
Waltham  ;  and  there  elect  the  Abbot  as  they  may  and  can. 
Monks  are  sworn  to  obedience  ;  must  not  speak  too  loud, 
under  penalty  of  foot-gyves,  limbo,  and  bread-and-water :  yet 
monks  too  would  know  what  it  is  they  are  obeying.  The  St. 
Edmundsbury  Community  has  no  hustings,  ballot-box,  indeed 
no  open  voting :  yet  by  various  vague  manipulations,  pulse- 
feelings,  we  struggle  to  ascertain  what  its  virtual  aim  is,  and 
succeed  better  or  worse. 

This  question,  however,  rises ;  alas,  a  quite  preliminary 
question :  Will  the  Domimis  Rex  allow  us  to  choose  freely  ? 
It  is  to  be  hoped  !  Well,  if  so,  we  agree  to  choose  one  of 
our  own  Convent.  If  not,  if  the  Domimis  Rex  will  force  a 
stranger  on  us,  we  decide  on  demurring,  the  Prior  and  his 
Twelve  shall  demur  :  we  can  appeal,  plead,  remonstrate  ; 
appeal  even  to  the  Pope,  but  trust  it  will  not  be  necessary. 
Then  there  is  this  other  question,  raised  by  Brother  Samson  : 
What  if  the  Thirteen  should  not  themselves  be  able  to  agree  ? 
Brother  Samson  Subsaerista,  one  remarks,  is  ready  oftenest 
with  some  question,  some  suggestion,  that  has  wisdom  in  it. 
Though  a  servant  of  servants,  and  saying  little,  his  words  all 
tell,  having  sense  in  them ;  it  seems  by  his  light  mainly  that 
we  steer  ourselves  in  this  great  dimness. 


CHAP.  VIII.  THE  ELECTION.  77 

What  if  the  Thirteen  should  not  themselves  be  able  to 
agree  ?  Speak,  Samsou,  and  advise.  —  Could  not,  hints  Sam- 
son, Six  of  our  venerablest  elders  be  chosen  by  us,  a  kind  of 
electoral  committee,  here  and  now:  of  these,  "with  their 
hand  on  the  Gospels,  with  their  eye  on  the  Sacrosancta"  we 
take  oath  that  they  will  do  faithfully ;  let  these,  in  secret 
and  as  before  God,  agree  on  Three  whom  they  reckon  fittest ; 
write  their  names  in  a  Paper,  and  deliver  the  same  sealed, 
forthwith,  to  the  Thirteen :  one  of  those  Three  the  Thirteen 
shall  fix  on,  if  permitted.  If  not  permitted,  that  is  to  say, 
if  the  Dominus  Rex  force  us  to  demur, — the  paper  shall  be 
brought  back  unopened,  and  publicly  burned,  that  no  man's 
secret  bring  him  into  trouble. 

So  Samson  advises,  so  we  act ;  wisely,  in  this  and  in  other 
crises  of  the  business.  Our  electoral  committee,  its  eye  on 
the  Sacrosancta,  is  soon  named,  soon  sworn ;  and  we,  striking 
up  the  Fifth  Psalm,  "  Verba  mea,  — 

Give  ear  unto  my  words,  O  Lord, 
My  meditation  weigh," 

march  out  chanting,  and  leave  the  Six  to  their  work  in  the 
Chapter  here.  Their  work,  before  long,  they  announce  as 
finished :  they,  with  their  eye  on  the  Sacrosancta,  imprecat- 
ing the  Lord  to  weigh  and  witness  their  meditation,  have 
fixed  on  Three  Names,  and  written  them  in  this  Sealed  Paper. 
Let  Samson  Subsacrista,  general  servant  of  the  party,  take 
charge  of  it.  On  the  morrow  morning,  our  Prior  and  his 
Twelve  will  be  ready  to  get  under  way. 

This,  then,  is  the  ballot-box  and  electoral  winnowing- 
machine  they  have  at  St.  Edmundslmry  :  a  mind  fixed  on  the 
Thrice  Holy,  an  appeal  to  God  on  high  to  witness  their  medi- 
tation :  by  far  the  best,  and  indeed  the  only  good  electoral 
winnow  ing-machine, —  if  men  have  souls  in  them.  Totally 
worthless,  it  is  true,  and  even  hideous  and  poisonous,  if  men 
have  no  souls.  But  without  soul,  alas,  what  winnowing- 
machine  in  human  elections  can  be  of  avail  ?  We  cannot  get 
along  without  soul ;  we  stick  fast,  the  mournfulest  spectacle  ; 
and  salt  itself  will  not  save  us! 


78  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  II. 

On  the  morrow  morning,  accordingly,  our  Thirteen  set 
forth ;  or  rather  our  Prior  and  Eleven  ;  for  Samson,  as  gen- 
eral servant  of  the  party,  has  to  linger,  settling  many  things. 
At  length  he  too  gets  upon  the  road ;  and,  "  carrying  the 
sealed  Paper  in  a  leather  pouch  hung  round  his  neck ;  and 
froccum  bajutans  in  ulnis  [thanks  to  thee,  Bozzy  Jocelin],  his 
frock-skirts  looped  over  his  elbow,"  showing  substantial  stern- 
works,  tramps  stoutly  along.  Away  across  the  Heath,  not  yet 
of  Newmarket  and  horse-jockeying ;  •  across  your  Fleam-dike 
and  Pevil's-dike,  no  longer  useful  as  a  Mercian  East-Anglian 
boundary  or  bulwark  :  continually  towards  Waltham,  and  the 
Bishop  of  Winchester's  House  there,  for  his  Majesty  is  in 
that.  Brother  Samson,  as  purse-bearer,  has  the  reckoning 
always,  when  there  is  one,  to  pay  ;  "  delays  are  numerous," 
progress  none  of  the  swiftest. 

But,  in  the  solitude  of  the  Convent,  Destiny  thus  big  and 
in  her  birthtime,  what  gossiping,  what  babbling,  what  dream- 
ing of  dreams  !  The  secret  of  the  Three  our  electoral  elders 
alone  know  :  some  Abbot  we  shall  have  to  govern  us  ;  but 
which  Abbot,  oh,  which  !  One  Monk  discerns  in  a  vision  of 
the  night-watches,  that  we  shall  get  an  Abbot  of  our  own 
body,  without  needing  to  demur :  a  prophet  appeared  to  him 
clad  all  in  white,  and  said,  "  Ye  shall  have  one  of  yours,  and 
he  will  rage  among  you  like  a  wolf,  sceviet  ut  lupus."  Verily  ! 
—  then  which  of  ours  ?  Another  Monk  now  dreams  :  he  has 
seen  clearly  which  ;  a  certain  Figure  taller  by  head  and  shoul- 
ders than  the  other  two,  dressed  in  alb  and  pallium,  and  with 
the  attitude  of  one  about  to  fight ;  —  which  tall  Figure  a  wise 
Editor  would  rather  not  name  at  this  stage  of  the  business  ! 
Enough  that  the  vision  is  true  :  that  St.  Edmund  himself, 
pale  and  awful,  seemed  to  rise  from  his  Shrine,  with  naked 
feet,  and  say  audibly,  "  He,  ille,  shall  veil  my  feet ;  "  which 
part  of  the  vision  also  proves  true.  Such  guessing,  vision- 
ing,  dim  perscrutation  of  the  momentous  future  :  the  very 
cloth-makers,  old  women,  all  townsfolk  speak  of  it,  "and 
more  than  once  it  is  reported  in  St.  Edmundsbury,  This 
one  is  elected;  and  then,  This  one,  and  That  other."  Who 
knows  ? 


CHAP.  VIII.  THE   ELECTION.  79 

But  now,  sure  enough,  at  Waltham  "  on  the  Second  Sunday 
of  Quadragesima,"  which  Dryasdust  declares  to  mean  the  22d 
day  of  February,  year  1182,  Thirteen  St.  Edmuudsbury  Monks 
are,  at  last,  seen  processioning  towards  the  Winchester  Manor- 
house  ;  and,  in  some  high  Presence-chamber  and  Hall  of  State, 
get  access  to  Henry  II.  in  all  his  glory.  What  a  Hall,  —  not 
imaginary  in  the  least,  but  entirely  real  and  indisputable, 
though  so  extremely  dim  to  us ;  sunk  in  the  deep  distances  of 
Night !  The  Winchester  Manor-house  has  fled  bodily,  like  a 
Dream  of  the  old  Night;  not  Dryasdust  himself  can  show  a 
wreck  of  it.  House  and  people,  royal  and  episcopal,  lords  and 
varlets,  where  are  they  '.'  Why  there.  I  say,  Seven  Centuries 
off;  sunk  so  far  in  the  Night,  there  they  are ;  peep  through 
the  blankets  of  the  old  Night,  and  thou  wilt  see !  King 
Henry  himself  is  visibly  there  ;  a  vivid,  noble-looking  man, 
with  grizzled  beard,  in  glittering  uncertain  costume ;  with 
earls  round  him,  and  bishops,  and  dignitaries,  in  the  like. 
The  Hall  is  large,  and  has  for  one  thing  an  altar  near  it, — 
chapel  and  altar  adjoining  it ;  but  what  gilt  seats,  carved 
tables,  carpeting  of  rush-cloth,  what  arras-hangings,  and 
huge  fire  of  logs: — alas,  it  has  Human  Life  in  it;  and  is 
not  that  the  grand  miracle,  in  what  hangings  or  costume 
soever  ?  — 

The  Dominus  Rex,  benignantly  receiving  our  Thirteen  with 
their  obeisance,  and  graciously  declaring  that  he  will  strive  to 
act  for  God's  honor  and  the  Church's  good,  commands,  "by 
the  Bishop  of  Winchester  and  Geoffrey  the  Chancellor,"  — 
Galfridus  Canceilarius,  Henry's  and  the  Fair  Rosamond's 
authentic  Son  present  here!  —  commands,  "That  they,  the  said 
Thirteen,  do  now  withdraw,  and  fix  upon  Three  from  their 
own  Monastery."  A  work  soon  done ;  the  Three  hanging 
ready  round  Samson's  neck,  in  that  leather  pouch  of  his. 
Breaking  the  seal,  we  find  the  names,  —  what  think  ye  of  it, 
ye  higher  dignitaries,  thou  indolent  Prior,  thou  Willelinus 
Saerista  with  the  red  bottle-nose  ?  —  the  names,  in  this  order : 
of  Samson  Suksacrista,  of  Roger  the  distressed  Cellarer,  of 
Hugo  Tertius-Prior. 

The  higher  dignitaries,  all  omitted  here,   "flush  suddenly 


80  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  II. 

red  in  the  face  ; "  but  have  nothing  to  say.  One  curious  fact 
and  question  certainly  is,  How  Hugo  Third-Prior,  who  was 
of  the  electoral  committee,  came  to  nominate  himself  as  one 
of  the  Three  ?  A  curious  fact,  which  Hugo  Third-Prior  has 
never  yet  entirely  explained,  that  I  know  of !  —  However,  we 
return,  and  report  to  the  King  our  Three  names ;  merely  alter- 
ing the  order;  putting  Samson  last,  as  lowest  of  all.  The 
King,  at  recitation  of  our  Three,  asks  us :  "  Who  are  they  ? 
Were  they  born  in  my  domain  ?  Totally  unknown  to  me ! 
You  must  nominate  three  others."  Whereupon  Willelinus 
Sacrista  says,  "  Our  Prior  must  be  named,  quia  caput  nostrum 
est,  being  already  our  head."  And  the  Prior  responds,  "  Willel- 
mus  Sacrista  is  a  fit  man,  bonus  vir  est"  —  for  all  his  red  hose. 
Tickle  me,  Toby,  and  I  '11  tickle  thee  !  Venerable  Dennis  too 
is  named ;  none  in  his  conscience  can  say  nay.  There  are  now 
Six  on  our  List.  "Well,"  said  the  King,  "they  have  done 
it  swiftly,  they !  Deus  est  cum  eis."  The  Monks  withdraw 
again ;  and  Majesty  revolves,  for  a  little,  with  his  Pares  and 
Episcopi,  Lords  or  "  Law-wards "  and  Soul-Overseers,  the 
thoughts  of  the  royal  breast.  The  Monks  wait  silent  in  an 
outer  room. 

In  short  while,  they  are  next  ordered,  To  add  yet  another 
three ;  but  not  from  their  own  Convent ;  from  other  Convents, 
"  for  the  honor  of  my  kingdom."  Here,  —  what  is  to  be  done 
here  ?  We  will  demur,  if  need  be  !  We  do  name  three,  how- 
ever, for  the  nonce :  the  Prior  of  St.  Faith's,  a  good  Monk  of 
St.  Neot's,  a  good  Monk  of  St.  Alban's ;  good  men  all ;  all 
made  abbots  and  dignitaries  since,  at  this  hour.  There  are 
now  Nine  upon  our  List.  What  the  thoughts  of  the  Domi- 
nus  Kex  may  be  farther  ?  The  Dominus  Rex,  thanking  gra- 
ciously, sends  out  word  that  we  shall  now  strike  off  three. 
The  three  strangers  are  instantly  struck  off.  Willelmus  Sa- 
crista adds,  that  he  will  of  his  own  accord  decline, — a  touch 
of  grace  and  respect  for  the  Sacrosancta,  even  in  Willelmus  ! 
The  King  then  orders  us  to  strike  off  a  couple  more ;  then  yet 
one  more :  Hugo  Third-Prior  goes,  and  Roger  Cellerarius,  and 
venerable  Monk  Dennis ;  —  and  now  there  remain  on  our  List 
two  only,  Samson  Subsacrista  and  the  Prior. 


CHAP.  VIII.  THE   ELECTION.  81 

Which  of  these  two  ?  It  were  hard  to  say,  —  by  Monks 
who  may  get  themselves  foot-gyved  and  thrown  into  limbo  for 
speaking !  We  humbly  request  that  the  Bishop  of  Winchester 
and  Geoffrey  the  Chancellor  may  again  enter,  and  help  us  to 
decide.  "  Which  do  you  want  ?  "  asks  the  Bishop.  Venerable 
Dennis  made  a  speech,  "  commending  the  persons  of  the  Prior 
and  Samson ;  but  always  in  the  corner  of  his  discourse,  in 
anyulo  sui  sermonis,  brought  Samson  in."  "  I  see  !  "  said  the 
Bishop:  "We  are  to  understand  that  your  Prior  is  somewhat 
remiss ;  that  you  want  to  have  him  you  call  Samson  for 
Abbot/'  "Either  of  them  is  good,"  said  venerable  Dennis, 
almost  trembling;  "but  we  would  have  the  better,  if  it  pleased 
God.'v  "Which  of  the  two  do  you  want?"  inquires  the  Bishop 
pointedly.  "  Samson ! "  answered  Dennis ;  "  Samson  ! "  echoed 
all  of  the  rest  that  durst  speak  or  echo  anything :  and  Samson 
is  reported  to  the  King  accordingly.  His  Majesty,  advising  of 
it  for  a  moment,  orders  that  Samson  be  brought  in  with  the 
other  Twelve. 

The  King's  Majesty,  looking  at  us  somewhat  sternly,  then 
says  :  "  You  present  to  me  Samson ;  I  do  not  know  him :  had 
it  been  your  Prior,  whom  I  do  know,  I  should  have  accepted 
him:  however,  I  will  now  do  as  you  wish.  But  have  a  care 
of  yourselves.  By  the  true  eyes  of  God,  per  veros  oculos  Dei, 
if  you  manage  badly,  I  will  be  upon  you ! "  Samson,  there- 
fore, steps  forward,  kisses  the  King's  feet ;  but  swiftly  rises 
erect  again,  swiftly  turns  towards  the  altar,  uplifting  with  the 
other  Twelve,  in  clear  tenor-note,  the  Fifty -first  Psalm,  "Mis- 
erere mei  Deus, 

After  thy  loving-kindness,  Lord, 
Have  mercy  upon  mr, ; " 

with  firm  voice,  firm  step  and  head,  no  change  in  his  coun- 
tenance whatever.  "By  God's  eyes,"  said  the  King,  "that 
one,  I  think,  will  govern  the  Abbey  well."  By  the  same  oath 
(charged  to  your  Majesty's  account),  I  too  am  precisely  of  that 
opinion !  It  is  some  while  since  I  fell  in  with  a  likelier  man 
anywhere  than  this  new  Ablnit  Samson.  Long  life  to  him, 
and  may  the  Lord  hare  mercy  on  him  as  Abbot! 

TOL.    XII.  0 


82  PAST   AND   PRESENT.  BOOK  II. 

• 

Thus,  then,  have  the  St.  Edmuudsbury  Monks,  without  ex- 
press ballot-box  or  other  good  winnowing-machine,  contrived 
to  accomplish  the  most  important  social  feat  a  body  of  men 
can  do,  to  winnow  out  the  man  that  is  to  govern  them :  and 
truly  one  sees  not  that,  by  any  winnowing-machine  whatever, 
they  could  have  done  it  better.  0  ye  kind  Heavens,  there 
is  in  every  Nation  and  Community  a  fittest,  a  wisest,  bravest, 
best ;  whom  could  we  find  and  make  King  over  us,  all  were  in 
very  truth  well;  —  the  best  that  God  and  Nature  had  per- 
mitted us  to  make  it !  By  what  art  discover  him  ?  Will 
the  Heavens  in  their  pity  teach  us  no  art;  for  our  need  of 
him  is  great! 

Ballot-boxes,  Eeform  Bills,  winnowing-machines  :  all  these 
are  good,  or  are  not  so  good;  —  alas,  brethren,  how  can  these, 
I  say,  be  other  than  inadequate,  be  other  than  failures,  melan- 
choly to  behold  ?  Dim  all  souls  of  men  to  the  divine,  the 
high  and  awful  meaning  of  Human  Worth  and  Truth,  we  shall 
never,  by  all  the  machinery  in  Birmingham,  discover  the  True 
and  Worthy.  It  is  written,  "  if  we  are  ourselves  valets,  there 
shall  exist  no  hero  for  us  ;  we  shall  not  know  the  hero  when 
we  see  him  ; "  —  we  shall  take  the  quack  for  a  hero ;  and  cry, 
audibly  through  all  ballot-boxes  and  machinery  whatsoever, 
Thou  art  he ;  be  thou  King  over  us ! 

What  boots  it  ?  Seek  only  deceitful  Speciosity,  money  with 
gilt  carriages,  "fame"  with  newspaper-paragraphs,  whatever 
name  it  bear,  you  will  find  only  deceitful  Speciosity  ;  godlike 
Reality  will  be  forever  far  from  you.  The  Quack  shall  be 
legitimate  inevitable  King  of  you ;  no  earthly  machinery  able 
to  exclude  the  Quack.  Ye  shall  be  born  thralls  of  the  Quack, 
and  suffer  under  him,  till  your  hearts  are  near  broken,  and  no 
French  Revolution  or  Manchester  Insurrection,  or  partial  or 
universal  volcanic  combustions  and  explosions,  never  so  many, 
can  do  more  than  "  change  the  figure  of  your  Quack ; "  the 
essence  of  him  remaining,  for  a  time  and  times.  —  "How  long, 
O  Prophet  ?  "  say  some,  with  a  rather  melancholy  sneer.  Alas, 
ye  ^prophetic,  ever  till  this  come  about :  Till  deep  misery,  if 
nothing  softer  will,  have  driven  you  out  of  your  Speciosities 
info  your  Sincerities ;  and  you  find  that  there  either  is  a  God- 


CHAP.  IX.  ABBOT   SAMSON. 

like  in  the  world,  or  else  ye  are  an  unintelligible  madness; 
that  there  is  a  God,  as  well  as  a  Mammon  and  a  Devil,  and  a 
Genius  of  Luxuries  and  canting  Dilettantisms  and  Vain  Shows ! 
How  long  that  will  be,  compute  for  yourselves.  My  unhappy 
brothers !  — 


CHAPTER  IX. 

ABBOT    SAMSON. 

So,  then,  the  bells  of  St.  Edmundsbury  clang  out  one  and 
all,  and  in  church  and  chapel  the  organs  go :  Convent  and 
Town,  and  all  the  west  side  of  Suffolk,  are  in  gala;  knights, 
viscounts,  weavers,  spinners,  the  entire  population,  male  and 
female,  young  and  old,  the  very  sockmen  with  their  chubby 
infants,  —  out  to  have  a  holiday,  and  see  the  Lord  Abbot 
arrive  !  And  there  is  "  stripping  barefoot "  of  the  Lord  Ab- 
bot at  the  Gate,  and  solemn  leading  of  him  in  to  the  High 
Altar  and  Shrine ;  with  sudden  "  silence  of  all  the  bells  and 
organs,"  as  we  kneel  in  deep  prayer  there  ;  and  again  with 
outburst  of  all  the  bells  and  organs,  and  loud  Te  Deum  from 
the  general  human  windpipe  ;  and  speeches  by  the  leading 
viscount,  and  giving  of  the  kiss  of  brotherhood;  the  whole 
wound  up  with  popular  games,  and  dinner  within  doors  of 
more  than  a  thousand  strong,  plus  yuam  millc  comedcntibus  in 
fjnudio  mayno. 

In  such  manner  is  the  self-same  Samson  once  again  re- 
turning to  us,  welcomed  on  this  occasion.  He  that  went  away 
with  his  frock-skirts  looped  over  his  arm,  comes  back  riding 
high ;  suddenly  made  one  of  the  dignitaries  of  this  world. 
Reflective  readers  will  admit  that  here  was  a  trial  for  a  man. 
Yesterday  a  poor  mendicant,  allowed  to  possess  not  above 
two  shillings  of  money,  and  without  authority  to  bid  a  dog 
run  for  him. — this  man  to-day  finds  himself  a  Dnminus  AMxtx, 
mitred  Peer  of  Parliament,  Lord  of  manor-houses,  farms, 


84  PAST   AND   PRESENT.  BOOK  II. 

manors,  and  wide  lands  ;  a  man  with  "  Fifty  Knights  under 
him,"  and  dependent,  swiftly  obedient  multitudes  of  men. 
It  is  a  change  greater  than  Napoleon's  ;  so  sudden  withal. 
As  if  one  of  the  Chandos  day-drudges  had,  on  awakening  some 
morning,  found  that  he  overnight  was  become  Duke  !  Let 
Samson  with  his  clear-beaming  eyes  see  into  that,  and  dis- 
cern it  if  he  can.  We  shall  now  get  the  measure  of  him  by 
a  new  scale  of  inches,  considerably  more  rigorous  than  the 
former  was.  For  if  a  noble  soul  is  rendered  tenfold  beauti- 
fuler  by  victory  and  prosperity,  springing  now  radiant  as 
into  his  own  due  element  and  sun-throne ;  an  ignoble  one  is 
rendered  tenfold  and  hundred-fold  uglier,  pitifuler.  What- 
soever vices,  whatsoever  weaknesses  were  in  the  man,  the 
parvenu  will  show  us  them  enlarged,  as  in  the  solar  micro- 
scope, into  frightful  distortion.  Nay,  how  many  mere  semi- 
nal principles  of  vice,  hitherto  all  wholesomely  kept  latent, 
may  we  now  see  unfolded,  as  in  the  solar  hot-house,  into 
growth,  into  huge  universally-conspicuous  luxuriance  and  de- 
velopment ! 

But  is  not  this,  at  any  rate,  a  singular  aspect  of  what  politi- 
cal and  social  capabilities,  nay,  let  us  say,  what  depth  and 
opulence  of  true  social  vitality,  lay  in  those  old  barbarous 
ages,  That  the  fit  Governor  could  be  met  with  under  such  dis- 
guises, could  be  recognized  and  laid  hold  of  under  such  ? 
Here  he  is  discovered  with  a  maximum  of  two  shillings  in 
his  pocket,  and  a  leather  scrip  round  his  neck ;  trudging 
along  the  highway,  his  frock-skirts  looped  over  his  arm. 
They  think  this  is  he  nevertheless,  the  true  Governor ;  and 
he  proves  to  be  so.  Brethren,  have  we  no  need  of  discovering 
true  Governors,  but  will  sham  ones  forever  do  for  us  ?  These 
were  absurd  superstitious  blockheads  of  Monks  ;  and  we  are 
enlightened  Tenpound  Franchisers,  without  taxes  on  knowl- 
edge !  Where,  I  say,  are  our  superior,  are  our  similar  or  at 
all  comparable  discoveries  ?  We  also  have  eyes,  or  ought  to 
have;  we  have  hustings,  telescopes;  we  have  lights,  link- 
lights  and  rush-lights  of  an  enlightened  free  Press,  burning 
and  dancing  everywhere,  as  in  a  universal  torch-dance ;  singe- 


CHAP.  IX.  ABBOT  SAMSON.  85 

ing  your  whiskers  as  you  traverse  the  public  thoroughfares  in 
town  and  country.  Great  souls,  true  Governors,  go  about 
under  all  manner  of  disguises  now  as  then.  Such  telescopes, 
such  enlightenment,  —  and  such  discovery  !  How  conies  it,  I 
say ;  how  comes  it  ?  Is  it  not  lamentable  ;  is  it  not  even,  in 
some  sense,  amazing  ? 

Alas,  the  defect,  as  we  must  often  urge  and  again  urge,  is 
less  a  defect  of  telescopes  than  of  some  eyesight.  Those  super- 
stitious blockheads  of  the  Twelfth  Century  had  no  telescopes, 
but  they  had  still  an  eye ;  not  ballot-boxes ;  only  reverence 
for  Worth,  abhorrence  of  Uuworth.  It  is  the  way  with  all 
barbarians.  Thus  Mr.  Sale  informs  me,  the  old  Arab  Tribes 
would  gather  in  liveliest  gaudeamus,  and  sing,  and  kindle  bon- 
fires, and  wreathe  crowns  of  honor,  and  solemnly  thank  the 
gods  that,  in  their  Tribe  too,  a  Poet  had  shown  himself.  As 
indeed  they  well  might ;  for  what  usef uler,  I  say  not  nobler 
and  heavenlier  thing  could  the  gods,  doing  their  very  kind- 
est, send  to  any  Tribe  or  Nation,  in  any  time  or  circum- 
stances ?  I  declare  to  thee,  my  afflicted  quack-ridden  brother, 
in  spite  of  thy  astonishment,  it  is  very  lamentable  !  We 
English  find  a  Poet,  as  brave  a  man  as  has  been  made  for 
a  hundred  years  or  so  anywhere  under  the  Sun ;  and  do  we 
kindle  bonfires,  or  thank  the  gods  ?  Not  at  all.  We,  taking 
due  counsel  of  it,  set  the  man  to  gauge  ale-barrels  in  the 
Burgh  of  Dumfries ;  and  pique  ourselves  on  our  "  patronage  of 
genius." 

Genius,  Poet :  do  we  know  what  these  words  mean  ?  An 
inspired  Soul  once  more  vouchsafed  us,  direct  from  Nature's 
own  great  fire-heart,  to  see  the  Truth,  and  speak  it,  and  do  it ; 
Nature's  own  sacred  voice  heard  once  more  athwart  the  dreary 
boundless  element  of  hearsay  ing  and  canting,  of  twaddle  and 
poltroonery,  in  which  the  bewildered  Earth,  nigh  perishing, 
has  lost  its  u-ay.  Hear  once  more,  ye  bewildered  benighted 
mortals ;  listen  once  again  to  a  voice  from  the  inner  Light-sea 
and  Flame-sea,  Nature's  and  Truth's  own  heart ;  know  the 
Fact  of  your  Existence  what  it  is,  put  away  the  Cant  of  it 
which  it  is  not ;  and  knowing,  do,  and  let  it  be  well  with 
you !  — 


86  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  II. 

George  the  Third  is  Defender  of  something  we  call  "the 
Faith  "  in  those  years  ;  George  the  Third  is  head  charioteer  of 
the  Destinies  of  England,  to  guide  them  through  the  gulf  of 
French  Revolutions,  American  Independences  ;  and  Eobert 
Burns  is  Gauger  of  ale  in  Dumfries.  It  is  an  Iliad  in  a  nut- 
shell. The  physiognomy  of  a  world  now  verging  towards 
dissolution,  reduced  now  to  spasms  and  death-throes,  lies  pic- 
tured in  that  one  fact,  —  which  astonishes  nobody,  except  at 
me  for  being  astonished  at  it.  The  fruit  of  long  ages  of  con- 

confirmed  as  inia-a_Lassr_of-Nature  ; 


cloth-worship  and  o^uack-worship  :  entirely  confirmed  Valet- 
hood,  —  which  will  have  to  imconfirm  itself  again  ;  God  knows, 
with  difficulty  enough  !  — 

Abbot  Samson  had  found  a  Convent  all  in  dilapidation  ; 
rain  beating  through  it,  material  rain  and  metaphorical,  from 
all  quarters  of  the  compass.  Willelmus  Sacrista  sits  drinking 
nightly,  and  doing  mere  tacenda.  Our  larders  are  reduced  to 
leanness,  Jew  harpies  and  unclean  creatures  our  purveyors  ; 
in  our  basket  is  no  bread.  Old  women  with  their  distaffs  rush 
out  on  a  distressed  Cellarer  in  shrill  Chartism.  "  You  cannot 
stir  abroad  but  Jews  and  Christians  pounce  upon  you  with  un- 
settled bonds  ;  "  debts  boundless  seemingly  as  the  National 
Debt  of  England.  For  four  years  our  new  Lord  Abbot  never 
went  abroad  but  Jew  creditors  and  Christian,  and  all  manner 
of  creditors,  were  about  him  ;  driving  him  to  very  despair. 
Our  Prior  is  remiss  ;  our  Cellarers,  officials  are  remiss  ;  our 
monks  are  remiss  :  what  man  is  not  remiss  ?  Front  this, 
Samson,  thou  alone  art  there  to  front  it  ;  it  is  thy  task  to 
front  and  fight  this,  and  to  die  or  kill  it.  May  the  Lord  have 
mercy  on  thee  ! 

To  our  antiquarian  interest  in  poor  Jocelin  and  his  Convent, 
where  the  whole  aspect  of  existence,  the  whole  dialect,  of 
thought,  of  speech,  of  activity,  is  so  obsolete,  strange,  long- 
vanished,  there  now  superadds  itself  a  mild  glow  of  human 
interest  for  Abbot  Samson  ;  a  real  pleasure,  as  at  sight  of 
man's  work,  especially  of  governing,  which  is  man's  highest 
work,  done  well.  Abbot  Samson  had  no  experience  in  govern- 


CHAP.  IX.  ABBOT  SAMSON.  87 

ing;  had  served  no  apprenticeship  to  the  trade  of  governing, 
—  alas,  only  the  hardest  apprenticeship  to  that  of  obeying. 
He  had  never  in  any  court  given  radium  or  plegium,  says  Joce- 
lin ;  hardly  ever  seen  a  court,  when  he  was  set  to  preside  in 
one.  But  it  is  astonishing,  continues  Jocelin,  how  soon  he 
learned  the  ways  of  business ;  and,  in  all  sort  of  affairs,  became 
expert  beyond  others.  ( )f  the  many  persons  offering  him  their 
service,  "  he  retained  one  Knight  skilled  in  taking  vadia  and 
pley'ia  ;  "  and  within  the  year  was  himself  well  skilled.  Nay, 
by  and  by,  the  Pope  appoints  him  Justiciary  in  certain  causes ; 
/the  King  one  of  his  new  Circuit  Judges  ;  official  Osbert  is 
heard  saying,  "  That  Abbot  is  one  of  your  shrewd  ones,  dis- 
putator  est ;  if  he  go  on  as  he  begins,  he  will  cut  out  every 
lawyer  of  us  !  "  * 

Why  not  ?  "What  is  to  hinder  this  Samson  from  govern- 
ing? There  is  in  him  what  far  transcends  all  apprentice- 
ships ;  in  the  man  himself  there  exists  a  model  of  governing, 
something  to  govern  by  !  There  exists  in  him  a  heart-abhor- 
rence of  whatever  is  incoherent,  pusillanimous,  unveracious,  — 
that  is  to  say,  chaotic,  «?igoverned ;  of  the  Devil,  not  of  God. 
A  man  of  this  kind  cannot  help  governing !  He  lias  the  living 
ideal  of  a  governor  in  him ;  and  the  incessant  necessity  of 
struggling  to  unfold  the  same  out  of  him.  Not  the  Devil  or 
Chaos,  for  any  wages,  will  he  serve  ;  no,  this  man  is  the  born 
servant  of  Another  than  them.  Alas,  how  little  avail  all  aj>- 
prenticeships,  when  there  is  in  your  governor  himself  what 
we  may  well  call  nothing  to  govern  by :  nothing ;  —  a  gen- 
eral gray  twilight,  looming  with  shapes  of  expediencies,  par- 
liamentary traditions,  division-lists,  election-funds,  leading- 
articles;  this,  with  what  of  vulpine  alertness  and  adroitness 
soever,  is  not  much! 

But  indeed  what  say  we,  apprenticeship  ?  Had  not  this 
Samson  served,  in  his  way,  a  right  good  apprenticeship  to 
governing;  namely,  the  harshest  slave-apprenticeship  to  obey- 
ing !  Walk  this  world  with  no  friend  in  it  but  God  and 
St.  Edmund,  you  will  either  fall  into  the  ditch,  or  learn  a 
good  many  things.  X^p  leajn_oJjeyi»g-4»--4he^fiindamental  art 
1  Jocelini  L'hronica,  p.  25. 


PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  II 

of  governing;'-  How  much  would  many  a  Serene  Highness 
have  learned,  had  he  travelled  through  the  world  with  water- 
jug  and  empty  wallet,  sine  omni  expensa  •  and,  at  his  victorious 
return,  sat  down  not  to  newspaper-paragraphs  and  city-illumi- 
nations, but  at  the  foot  of  St.  Edmund's  Shrine  to  shackles 
and  bread-and-water  !  He  that  cannot  be  servant  of  many, 
will  never  be  master,  true  guide  and  deliverer  of  many ;  — 
that  is  the  meaning  of  true  mastership.  Had  not  the  Monk- 
life  extraordinary  "  political  capabilities  "  in  it ;  if  not  imitable 
by  us,  yet  enviable  ?  Heavens,  had  a  Duke  of  Logwood,  now 
rolling  sumptuously  to  his  place  in  the  Collective  Wisdom,  but 
himself  happened  to  plough  daily,  at  one  time,  on  seveu-and- 
sixpence  a  week,  with  no  outdoor  relief,  —  what  a  light,  un- 
quenchable by  logic  and  statistic  and  arithmetic,  would  it  have 
thrown  on  several  things  for  him  ! 

In  all  cases,  therefore,  we  will  agree  with  the  judicious 
Mrs.  Glass  :  "  First  catch  your  hare  ! "  First  get  your  man  ; 
all  is  got :  he  can  learn  to  do  all  things,  from  making  boots, 
to  decreeing  judgments,  governing  communities  ;  and  will  do 
them  like  a  man.  Catch  your  no-man,  —  alas,  have  you  not 
caught  the  terriblest  Tartar  in  the  world  !  Perhaps  all  the 
terribler,  the  quieter  and  gentler  he  looks.  For  the  mischief 
that  one  blockhead,  that  every  blockhead  does,  in  a  world  so 
feracious,  teeming  with  endless  results  as  ours,  no  ciphering 
will  sum  up.  The  quack  bootmaker  is  considerable ;  as  corn- 
cutters  can  testify,  and  desperate  men  reduced  to  buckskin 
and  list-shoes.  But  the  quack  priest,  quack  high-priest,  the 
quack  king  !  Why  do  not  all  just  citizens  rush,  half-frantic, 
to  stop  him,  as  they  would  a  conflagration  ?  Surely  a  just 
citizen  is  admonished  by  God  and  his  own  Soul,  by  all  silent 
and  articulate  voices  of  this  Universe,  to  do  what  in  him  lies 
towards  relief  of  this  poor  blockhead-quack,  and  of  a  world 
that  groans  under  him.  Run  swiftly  ;  relieve  him,  —  were  it 
even  by  extinguishing  him  !  For  all  things  have  grown  so  old. 
tinder-dry,  combustible  ;  and  he  is  more  ruinous  than  confla- 
gration. Sweep  him  down,  at  least ;  keep  him  strictly  within 
the  hearth  :  he  will  then  cease  to  be  conflagration ;  he  will 
then  become  useful,  more  or  less,  as  culinary  tire.  Fire  is 


CHAP.  X.  GOVERNMENT.  89 

the  best  of  servants ;  but  what  a  master !  This  poor  block- 
head too  is  born  for  uses :  why,  elevating  him  to  mastership, 
will  you  make  a  conflagration,  a  parish-curse  or  world-curse 
of  him? 


CHAPTER  X. 

GOVERNMENT. 

How  Abbot  Samson,  giving  his  new  subjects  seriatim  the 
kiss  of  fatherhood  in  the  St.  Edmundsbury  chapter-house, 
proceeded  with  cautious  energy  to  set  about  reforming  their 
disjointed  distracted  way  of  life  ;  how  he  managed  with  his 
Fifty  rough  Milites  (Feudal  Knights),  with  his  lazy  Farmers, 
remiss  refractory  Monks,  with  Pope's  Legates,  Viscounts, 
Bishops,  Kings ;  how  on  all  sides  he  laid  about  him  like  a 
man,  and  putting  consequence  on  premise,  and  everywhere 
the  saddle  on  the  right  horse,  struggled  incessantly  to  educe 
organic  method  out  of  lazily  fermenting  wreck,  — the  careful 
reader  will  discern,  not  without  true  interest,  in  these  pages 
of  Jocelin  Boswell.  In  most  antiquarian  quaint  costume,  not 
of  garments  alone,  but  of  thought,  word,  action,  outlook  and 
position,  the  substantial  figure  of  a  man  with  eminent  nose, 
busliy  brows  and  clear-flashing  eyes,  his  russet  beard  growing 
daily  grayer,  is  visible,  engaged  in  true  governing  of  men.  It 
is  beautiful  how  the  chrysalis  governing-soul,  shaking  off  its 
dusty  slough  and  prison,  starts  forth  winged,  a  tme  royal 
soul !  Our  new  Abbot  has  a  right  honest  unconscious  fooling, 
without  insolence  as  without  fear  or  flutter,  of  what  he  is  and 
what  others  are.  A  courage  to  quell  the  proudest,  an  honest 
pity  to  encourage  the  humblest.  Withal  there  is  a  noble 
reticence  in  this  Lord  Abbot :  much  vain  unreason  ho  hoars  ; 
lays  up  without  response.  He  is  not  there  to  expect  reason 
and  nobleness  of  others ;  he  is  there  to  give  them  of  his  own 
roason  and  nobleness.  Is  he  not  their  servant,  as  wo  said, 
who  can  suffer  from  them,  and  for  them  ;  lx?ar  the  burden 
their  poor  spindle-limbs  totter  and  stagger  under ;  and,  in 


90  PAST  AND   PRESENT.  BOO*  II. 

virtue  of  being  their  servant,  govern  them,  lead  them  out  of 
weakness  into  strength,  out  of  defeat  into  victory  ! 

One  of  the  first  Herculean  Labors  Abbot  Samson  under- 
took, or  the  very  first,  was  to  institute  a  strenuous  review 
and  radical  reform  of  his  economics.  It  is  the  first  labor 
of  every  governing  man,  from  Paterfamilias  to  Dominus  Rex. 
To  get  the  rain  thatched  out  from  you  is  the  preliminary  of 
whatever  farther,  in  the  way  of  speculation  or  of  action,  you 
may  mean  to  do.  Old  Abbot  Hugo's  budget,  as  we  saw,  had 
become  empty,  filled  with  deficit  and  wind.  To  see  his 
account-books  clear,  be  delivered  from  those  ravening  flights 
of  Jew  and  Christian  creditors,  pouncing  on  him  like  obscene 
harpies  wherever  he  showed  face,  was  a  necessity  for  Abbot 
Samson. 

On  the  morrow  after  his  instalment  he  brings  in  a  load  of 
money-bonds,  all  duly  stamped,  sealed  with  this  or  the  other 
Convent  Seal :  frightful,  unmanageable,  a  bottomless  con- 
fusion of  Convent  finance.  There  they  are  j  —  but  there  at 
least  they  all  are ;  all  that  shall  be  of  them.  Our  Lord  Abbot 
demands  that  all  the  official  seals  in  use  among  us  be  now 
produced  and  delivered  to  him.  Three-and-thirty  seals  turn 
up ;  are  straightway  broken,  and  shall  seal  no  more :  the 
Abbot  only,  and  those  duly  authorized  by  him,  shall  seal  any 
bond.  There  are  but  two  ways  of  paying  debt:  increase 
of  industry  in  raising  income,  increase  of  thrift  in  laying  it 
out.  With  iron  energy,  in  slow  but  steady  undeviating  per- 
severance, Abbot  Samson  sets  to  work  in  both  directions. 
His  troubles  are  manifold :  cunning  mHites,  unjust  bailiffs, 
lazy  sockmen,  he  an  inexperienced  Abbot ;  relaxed  lazy  monks, 
not  disinclined  to  mutiny  in  mass  :  but  continued  vigilance, 
rigorous  method,  what  we  call  "  the  eye  of  the  master,"  work 
wonders.  The  clear-beaming  eyesight  of  Abbot  Samson,  stead- 
fast, severe,  all-penetrating,  —  it  is  like  Fiat  hix  in  that  inor- 
ganic waste  whirlpool ;  penetrates  gradually  to  all  nooks,  and 
of  the  chaos  makes  a  kosmos  or  ordered  world ! 

He  arranges  everywhere,  struggles  uuweariedly  to  arrange, 
and  place  on  some  intelligible  footing,  the  "  affairs  and  dues, 


CHAP.  X.  GOVERNMENT.  91 

res  ac  redditus,"  of  his  dominion.  The  Lakenheath  eels  cease 
to  breed  squabbles  between  human  beings  ;  the  penny  of  reap- 
rilver  to  explode  into  the  streets  the  Female  Chartism  of  St. 
Edmundsbury.  These  and  innumerable  greater  things.  Where- 
soever Disorder  may  stand  or  lie,  let  it  have  a  care ;  here  is 
the  man  that  has  declared  war  with  it,  that  never  will  make 
peace  with  it.  Man  is  the  Missionary  of  Order ;  he  is  the 
servant  not  of  the  Devil  and  Chaos,  but  of  God  and  the  Uni- 
verse !  Let  all  sluggards  and  cowards,  remiss,  false-spoken, 
unjust,  and  otherwise  diabolic  persons  have  a  care  :  this  is 
a  dangerous  man  for  them.  He  has  a  mild  grave  face ;  a 
thoughtful  sternness,  a  sorrowful  pity :  but  there  is  a  terrible 
Hash  of  anger  in  him  too ;  lazy  monks  often  have  to  mmrmur, 
"  Sccvit  ut  lupus,  He  rages  like  a  wolf ;  was  not  our  Dream 
true  !  "  "  To  repress  and  hold  in  such  sudden  anger  he  was 
continually  careful,"  and  succeeded  well  :  —  right,  Samson  ; 
that  it  may  become  in  thee  as  noble  central  heat,  fruitful, 
strong,  beneficent ;  not  blaze  out,  or  the  seldomest  possible 
blaze  out,  as  wasteful  volcanoism  to  scorch  and  consume ! 

"  We  must  first  creep,  and  gradually  learn  to  walk,"  had 
Abbot  Samson  said  of  himself,  at  starting.  In  four  years  he 
has  become  a  great  walker ;  striding  prosperously  along ; 
driving  much  before  him.  In  less  than  four  years,  says  Joce- 
lin,  the  Convent  Debts  were  all  liquidated :  the  harpy  Jews 
not  only  settled  with,  but  banished,  bag  and  baggage,  out  of 
the  Bannuleiiffi  (Liberties,  Banlieue)  of  St.  Edmundsbury, — 
so  has  the  King's  Majesty  been  persuaded  to  permit.  Fare- 
well to  yon,  at  any  rate  ;  let  us,  in  no  extremity,  apply  again 
to  you  !  Armed  men  march  them  over  the  borders,  dismiss 
them  under  stern  penalties,  —  sentence  of  excommunication 
on  all  that  shall  again  harbor  them  here :  there  were  many 
dry  eyes  at  their  departure. 

New  life  enters  everywhere,  springs  up  beneficent,  the  Incu- 
bus of  Debt  once  rolled  away.  Samson  hastes  not ;  but  neither 
does  he  pause  to  rest.  This  of  the  Finance  is  a  life-long  busi- 
ness with  him ;  Jocelin's  anecdotes  are  filled  to  weariness  with 
it.  As  indeed  to  Jocelin  it  was  of  very  primary  interest. 


92  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  II. 

But  we  have  to  record  also,  with  a  lively  satisfaction,  that 
spiritual  rubbish  is  as  little  tolerated  in  Samson's  Monastery 
as  material.  With  due  rigor,  Willelmus  Sacrista,  and  his  bi- 
bations  and  tacenda  are,  at  the  earliest  opportunity,  softly  yet 
irrevocably  put  an  end  to.  The  bibations,  namely,  had  to  end ; 
even  the  building  where  they  used  to  be  carried  on  was  razed 
from  the  soil  of  St.  Edmundsbury,  and  "  on  its  place  grow  rows 
of  beans  : "  Willelmus  himself,  deposed  from  the  Sacristy  and 
all  offices,  retires  into  obscurity,  into  absolute  taciturnity  un- 
broken thenceforth  to  this  hour.  Whether  the  poor  Willel- 
mus did  not  still,  by  secret  channels,  occasionally  get  some 
slight  wetting  of  vinous  or  alcoholic  liquor,  —  now  grown,  in 
a  manner,  indispensable  to  the  poor  man  ?  Jocelin  hints  not ; 
one  knows  not  how  to  hope,  what  to  hope!  But  if  he  did, 
it  was  in  silence  and  darkness ;  with  an  ever-present  feeling 
that  teetotalism  was  his  only  true  course.  Drunken  disso- 
lute Monks  are  a  class  of  persons  who  had  better  keep  out 
of  Abbot  Samson's  way.  Scevit  ut  lupus  ;  was  not  the  Dream 
true !  murmured  many  a  Monk.  Nay  Kanulf  de  Glanvill, 
Justiciary  in  Chief,  took  umbrage  at  him,  seeing  these  strict 
ways ;  and  watched  farther  with  suspicion :  but  discerned 
gradually  that  there  was  nothing  wrong,  that  there  was  much 
the  opposite  of  wrong. 


CHAPTER  XI. 
THE  ABBOT'S  WAYS. 

ABBOT  SAMSON  showed  no  extraordinary  favor  to  the  Monks 
who  had  been  his  familiars  of  old ;  did  not  promote  them  to 
offices,  —  nisi  essent  idonei,  unless  they  chanced  to  be  fit  men ! 
Whence  great  discontent  among  certain  of  these,  who  had  con- 
tributed to  make  him  Abbot :  reproaches,  open  and  secret,  of 
his  being  "ungrateful,  hard-tempered,  unsocial,  a  Norfolk 
barrator  and  paltenerius." 

Indeed,  except  it  were  for  idonei,  "  fit  men,"  in  all  kinds,  it 


CHAP.  XL  THE  ABBOT'S  WAYS.  93 

was  hard  to  say  for  whom  Abbot  Samson  had  much  favor.  He 
loved  his  kindred  well,  and  tenderly  enough  acknowledged 
the  poor  part  of  them  j  with  the  rich  part,  who  in  old  days 
had  never  acknowledged  him,  he  totally  refused  to  have  any 
business.  But  even  the  former  he  did  not  promote  into  offices ; 
finding  none  of  them  idonei.  "  Some  whom  he  thought  suit- 
able he  put  into  situations  in  his  own  household,  or  made 
keepers  of  his  country  places :  if  they  behaved  ill,  he  dis- 
missed them  without  hope  of  return."  In  his  promotions, 
nay  almost  in  his  benefits,  you  would  have  said  there  was  a 
certain  impartiality.  "  The  official  person  who  had,  by  Abbot 
Hugo's  order,  put  the  fetters  on  him  at  his  return  from  Italy, 
was  now  supported  with  food  and  clothes  to  the  end  of  his 
days  at  Abbot  Samson's  expense." 

Yet  he  did  not  forget  benefits;  far  the  reverse,  when  an 
opportunity  occurred  of  paying  them  at  his  own  cost.  How 
pay  them  at  the  public  cost ;  —  how,  above  all,  by  setting  fire 
to  the  public,  as  we  said ;  clapping  "  conflagrations "  on  the 
public,  which  the  services  of  blockheads,  non-idonei,  intrinsi- 
cally are  !  He  was  right  willing  to  remember  friends,  when 
it  could  be  done.  Take  these  instances  :  "  A  certain  chaplain 
who  had  maintained  him  at  the  Schools  of  Paris  by  the  sale 
of  holy  water,  qurrstu  aqua*  benedicta* ;  — to  this  good  chaplain 
he  did  give  a  vicarage,  adequate  to -the  comfortable  sustenance 
of  him."  "  The  Son  of  Elias  too,  that  is,  of  old  Abbot  Hugo's 
Cupbearer,  coming  to  do  homage  for  his  Father's  land,  our 
Lord  Abbot  said  to  him  in  full  Court :  '  I  have,  for  these  seven 
years,  put  off  taking  thy  homage  for  the  land  which  Abbot 
Hugo  gave  thy  Father,  because  that  gift  was  to  the  damage 
of  Elmswell,  and  a  questionable  one  :  but  now  I  must  profess 
myself  overcome ;  mindful  of  the  kindness  thy  Father  did  me 
when  I  was  in  bonds ;  because  he  sent  me  a  cup  of  the  very 
wine  his  master  had  been  drinking,  and  bade  me  be  comforted 
in  God.' " 

"To  Magister  Walter,  son  of  Magister  William  de  Dice,  who 
wanted  the  vicarage  of  Chevington,  he  answered  :  'Thy  Father 
was  Master  of  the  Schools  ;  and  when  I  was  an  indigent 
clcricus,  he  granted  me  freely  and  in  charity  an  entrance  to 


94  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  n. 

liis  School,  and  opportunity  of  learning;  wherefore  I  now, 
for  the  sake  of  God,  grant  to  thee  what  thou  askest.' "  Or 
lastly,  take  this  good  instance,  —  and  a  glimpse,  along  with 
it,  into  long-obsolete  times  :  "  Two  Milites  of  Kisby,  Willelm 
and  Norman,  being  adjudged  in  Court  to  come  under  his 
mercy,  in  misericordia  ejus,"  for  a  certain  very  considerable 
fine  of  twenty  shillings,  "he  thus  addressed  them  publicly 
on  the  spot :  '  When  I  was  a  Cloister-monk,  I  was  once  sent 
to  Durham  on  business  of  our  Church;  and  coming  home 
again,  the  dark  night  caught  me  at  Kisby,  and  I  had  to  beg 
a  lodging  there.  I  went  to  Dominus  Norman's,  and  he  gave 
me  a  flat  refusal.  Going  then  to  Dominus  Willelm's,  and 
begging  hospitality,  I  was  by  him  honorably  received.  The 
twenty  shillings  therefore  of  mercy,  I,  without  mercy,  will 
exact  from  Dominus  Norman;  to  Dominus  Willelm,  on  the 
other  hand,  I,  with  thanks,  will  wholly  remit  the  said  sum.' " 
Men  know  not  always  to  whom  they  refuse  lodgings ;  men 
have  lodged  Angels  unawares  !  — 

It  is  clear  Abbot  Samson  had  a  talent ;  he  had  learned  to 
judge  better  than  Lawyers,  to  manage  better  than  bred  Bai- 
liffs :  —  a  talent  shining  out  indisputable,  on  whatever  side 
you  took  him.  "An  eloquent  man  he  was,"  says  Jocelin, 
"  both  in  French  and  Latin  ;•  but  intent  more  on  the  substance 
and  method  of  what  was  to  be  said,  than  on  the  ornamental 
way  of  saying  it.  He  could  read  English  Manuscripts  very 
elegantly,  elegantissime :  he  was  wont  to  preach  to  the  people 
in  the  English  tongue,  though  according  to  the  dialect  of  Nor- 
folk, where  he  had  been  brought  up  ;  wherefore  indeed  he  had 
caused  a  Pulpit  to  be  erected  in  our  Church  both  for  ornament, 
of  the  same,  and  for  the  use  of  his  audiences."  There  preached 
he,  according  to  the  dialect  of  Norfolk :  a  man  worth  going  to 
hear. 

That  he  was  a  just  clear-hearted  man,  this,  as  the  basis  of  all 
true  talent,  is  presupposed.  How  can  a  man,  without  clear 
vision  in  his  heart  first  of  all,  have  any  clear  vision  in  the 
head  ?  It  is  impossible  !  Abbot  Samson  was  one  of  the  just- 
est  of  judges ;  insisted  on  understanding  the  case  to  the  bottom, 


CHAT.  XI.  THE   ABBOT'S   WAYS.  95 

and  then  swiftly  decided  without  feud  or  favor.  For  which 
reason,  indeed,  the  Doininus  Rex,  searching  for  such  men,  as 
for  hidden  treasure  and  healing  to  his  distressed  realm,  had 
made  him  one  of  the  new  Itinerant  Judges,  —  such  as  continue 
to  this  day.  "  My  curse  on  that  Abbot's  court,"  a  suitor  was 
heard  imprecating,  "  Maledicta  sit  curia  istius  Abbatis,  where 
neither  gold  nor  silver  can  help  me  to  confound  my  enemy  ! " 
And  old  friendships  and  all  connections  forgotten,  when  you 
go  to  seek  an  office  from  him  !  "  A  kinless  loon,"  as  the 
Scotch  said  of  Cromwell's  new  judges,  —  intent  on  mere  indif- 
ferent fair-play ! 

Eloquence  in  three  languages  is  good ;  but  it  is  not  the  best. 
To  us,  as  already  hinted,  the  Lord  Abbot's  eloquence  is  less 
admirable  than  his  /^eloquence,  his  great  invaluable  ''talent  of 
silence  "  !  "  '  Deus,  Deris,'  said  the  Lord  Abbot  to  me  once, 
when  he  heard  the  Convent  were  murmuring  at  some  act  of 
his,  '  I  have  much  need  to  remember  that  Dream  they  had  of 
me,  that  I  was  to  rage  among  them  like  a  wolf.  Above  all 
earthly  things  I  dread  their  driving  me  to  do  it.  How  much 
do  I  hold  in,  and  wink  at ;  raging  and  shuddering  in  my  own 
secret  mind,  and  not  outwardly  at  all ! '  He  would  boast  to 
me  at  other  times:  'This  and  that  I  have  seen,  this  and  that 
I  have  heard ;  yet  patiently  stood  it.'  He  had  this  way,  too, 
which  I  have  never  seen  in  any  other  man,  that  he  affection- 
ately loved  many  persons  to  whom  he  never  or  hardly  ever 
showed  a  countenance  of  love.  Once  on  my  venturing  to 
expostulate  with  him  on  the  subject,  he  reminded  me  of  Solo- 
mon :  '  Many  sons  I  have ;  it  is  not  fit  that  I  shoulc1.  smile  on 
them.'  He  would  suffer  faults,  damage  from  his  servants,  and 
know  what  he  suffered,  and  not  speak  of  it ;  but  I  think  the 
reason  was,  he  waited  a  good  time  for  speaking  of  it,  and  in 
a  wise  way  amending  it.  He  intimated,  openly  in  chapter  to 
us  all,  that  he  would  have  no  eavesdropping :  '  Let  none,'  said 
he,  'come  to  me  secretly  accusing  another,  unless  he  will  pub- 
licly stand  to  the  same ;  if  he  come  otherwise,  I  will  openly 
proclaim  the  name  of  him.  I  wish,  too,  that  every  Monk  of 
you  have  free  access  to  me,  to  speak  of  your  needs  or  griev- 
ances when  you  will,'" 


96  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  II. 

The  kinds  of  people  Abbot  Samson  liked  worst  were  these 
three :  "  Mendaces,  ebriosi,  verbosi,  Liars,  drunkards  and  wordy 
or  windy  persons ; "  —  not  good  kinds,  any  of  them  !  He  also 
much  condemned  "  persons  given  to  murmur  at  their  meat  or 
drink,  especially  Monks  of  that  disposition."  We  remark, 
from  the  very  first,  his  strict  anxious  order  to  his  servants  to 
provide  handsomely  for  hospitality,  to  guard  "  above  all  things 
that  there  be  no  shabbiness  in  the  matter  of  meat  and  drink  ; 
no  look  of  mean  parsimony,  in  novitate  meet,  at  the  beginning 
of  my  Abbotship ; "  and  to  the  last  he  maintains  a  due  opu- 
lence of  table  and  equipment  for  others ;  but  he  is  himself  in 
the  highest  degree  indifferent  to  all  such  things. 

"  Sweet  milk,  honey  and  other  naturally  sweet  kinds  of  food, 
were  what  he  preferred  to  eat :  but  he  had  this  virtue,"  says 
Jocelin,  "  he  never  changed  the  dish  (ferculum)  you  set  before 
him,  be  what  it  might.  Once  when  I,  still  a  novice,  happened 
to  be  waiting  table  in  the  refectory,  it  came  into  my  head 
[rogue  that  I  was  !]  to  try  if  this  were  true ;  and  I  thought 
I  would  place  before  him  a  ferculum  that  would  have  dis- 
pleased any  other  person,  the  very  platter  being  black  and 
broken.  But  he,  seeing  it,  was  as  one  that  saw  it  not :  and 
BOW  some  little  delay  taking  place,  my  heart  smote  me  that 
I  had  done  this  ;  and  so,  snatching  up  the  platter  (discris),  I 
changed  both  it  and  its  contents  for  a  better,  and  put  down 
that  instead  ;  which  emendation  he  was  angry  at,  and  rebuked 
me  for,"  —  the  stoical  monastic  man  !  "  For  the  first  seven 
years  he  had  commonly  four  sorts  of  dishes  on  his  table ;  after- 
wards only  three,  except  it  might  be  presents,  or  venison  from 
his  own  parks,  or  fishes  from  his  ponds.  And  if,  at  any  time, 
he  had  guests  living  in  his  house  at  the  request  of  some  great 
person,  or  of  some  friend,  or  had  public  messengers,  or  had 
harpers  (citharordos),  or  any  one  of  that  sort,  he  took  the  first 
opportunity  of  shifting  to  another  of  his  Manor-houses,  and  so 
got  rid  of  such  superfluous  individuals," 1  —  very  prudently, 
I  think. 

As  to  his  parks,  of  these,  in  the  general  repair  of  buildings, 
general    improvement    and    adornment   of    the    St.   Edmund 
1  Jocclini  Chrom'ca.  p.  31. 


CHAP.  XI.  THE   ABBOT'S   WAYS.  97 

Domains,  "  he  had  laid  out  several,  and  stocked  them  with  ani- 
mals, retaining  a  proper  huntsman  with  hounds  :  and,  if  any 
guest  of  great  quality  were  there,  our  Lord  Abbot  with  his 
Monks  would  sit  in  some  opening  of  the  woods,  and  see  the 
dogs  run  ;  but  he  himself  never  meddled  with  hunting,  that  I 
saw. 


" 


"  In  an  opening  of  the  woods  ;  "  —  for  the  country  was  still 
dark  with  wood  in  those  days  ;  and  Scotland  itself  still  rustled 
shaggy  and  leafy,  like  a  damp  black  American  Forest,  with 
cleared  spots  and  spaces  here  and  there.  Dryasdust  advances 
several  absurd  hypotheses  as  to  the  insensible  but  almost  total 
disappearance  of  these  woods  ;  the  thick  wreck  of  which  now 
lies  as  peat,  sometimes  with  huge  heart-of-oak  timber-logs 
imbedded  in  it,  on  many  a  height  and  hollow.  The  simplest 
reason  doubtless  is,  that  by  increase  of  husbandry,  there  was 
increase  of  cattle  ;  increase  of  hunger  for  green  spring  food  ; 
and  so,  more  and  more,  the  new  seedlings  got  yearly  eaten  out 
in  April  ;  and  the  old  trees,  having  only  a  certain  length  of  life 
in  them,  died  gradually,  no  man  heeding  it,  and  disappeared 
into  peat. 

A  sorrowful  waste  of  noble  wood  and  umbrage  !  Yes,  —  but  a 
very  common  one;  the  course  of  most  things  in  this  world. 
Monachism  itself,  so  rich  and  fruitful  once,  is  now  all  rotted 
into  peat  ;  lies  sleek  and  buried,  —  and  a  most  feeble  bog-grass 
of  Dilettantism  all  the  crop  we  reap  from  it  !  That  also  was 
frightful  waste  ;  perhaps  among  the  saddest  our  England  ever 
saw.  Why  will  men  destroy  noble  Forests,  even  when  in  part 
a  nuisance,  in  such  reckless  manner  ;  turning  loose  four-footed 
cattle  and  Henry-the-Eighths  into  them  !  The  fifth  part  of  our 
English  soil,  Dryasdust  computes,  lay  consecrated  to  "  spiritual 
uses,"  better  or  worse  ;  solemnly  set  apart  to  foster  spiritual 
growth  and  culture  of  the  soul,  by  the  methods  then  known  : 
and  now  —  it  too,  like  the  four-fifths,  fosters  what?  Gentle 
shepherd,  tell  me  what  ! 

1  Jocelini  Chronica,  p.  21, 
TOL.  »ij.  7 


98  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  II. 


CHAPTER  XII. 
THE  ABBOT'S  TROUBLES. 

THE  troubles  of  Abbot  Samson,  as  he  went  long  in  this 
abstemious,  reticent,  rigorous  way,  were  more  than  tongue  can 
tell.  The  Abbot's  mitre  once  set  on  his  head,  he  knew  rest  no 
more.  Double,  double  toil  and  trouble ;  that  is  the  life  of  all 
governors  that  really  govern  :  not  the  spoil  of  victory,,  only  the 
glorious  toil  of  battle  can  be  theirs.  Abbot  Samson  found  all 
men  more  or  less  headstrong,  irrational,  prone  to  disorder ; 
continually  threatening  to  prove  imgovernable. 

His  lazy  Monks  gave  him  most  trouble.  "My  heart  is  tor- 
tured," said  he,  "  till  we  get  out  of  debt,  cor  meum  o-uciatum 
est"  Your  heart,  indeed ;  —  but  not  altogether  ours  !  By  no 
devisable  method,  or  none  of  three  or  four  that  he  devised, 
could  Abbot  Samson  get  these  Monks  of  his  to  keep  their  ac- 
counts straight ;  but  always,  do  as  he  might,  the  Cellerarius 
at  the  end  of  the  term  is  in*  a  coil,  in  a  flat  deficit,  —  verging 
again  towards  debt  and  Jews.  The  Lord  Abbot  at  last  de- 
clares sternly  he  will  keep  our  accounts  too  himself ;  will  ap- 
point an  officer  of  his  own  to  see  our  Cellerarius  keep  them. 
Murmurs  thereupon  among  us :  Was  the  like  ever  heard  ? 
Our  Cellerarius  a  cipher;  the  very  Townsfolk  know  it:  sub- 
sannatio  et  derisio  sumus,  we  have  become  a  laughing-stock  to 
mankind.  The  Norfolk  barrator  and  paltener ! 

And  consider,  if  the  Abbot  found  such  difficulty  in  the  mere 
economic  department,  how  much  in  more  complex  ones,  in 
spiritual  ones  perhaps !  He  wears  a  stern  calm  face ;  raging 
and  gnashing  teeth,  fremens  and  frendens,  many  times,  in  the 
secret  of  his  mind.  Withal,  however,  there  is  a  noble  slow 
perseverance  in  him  ;  a  strength  of  "  subdued  rage  "  calculated 
to  subdue  most  things :  always,  in  the  long-run,  he  contrives 
to  gain  his  point. 


CHAP.  XII.  THE  ABBOT'S  TROUBLES.  99 

Murmurs  from  the  Monks,  meanwhile,  cannot  fail;  ever 
deeper  murmurs,  new  grudges  accumulating.  At  one  time,  on 
slight  cause,  some  drop  making  the  cup  run  over,  they  burst 
into  open  mutiny  :  the  Cellarer  will  not  obey,  prefers  arrest  on 
bread-and-water  to  obeying ;  the  Monks  thereupon  strike  work ; 
refuse  to  do  the  regular  chanting  of  the  day,  at  least  the 
younger  part  of  them  with  loud  clamor  and  uproar  refuse  :  — 
Abbot  Samson  has  withdrawn  to  another  residence,  acting  only 
by  messengers :  the  awful  report  circulates  through  St.  Ed- 
mundsbury  that  the  Abbot  is  in  danger  of  being  murdered  by 
the  Monks  with  their  knives !  How  wilt  thou  appease  this, 
Abbot  Samson  !  Return  ;  for  the  Monastery  seems  near  catch- 
ing fire ! 

Abbot  Samson  returns ;  sits  in  his  Talamus,  or  inner  room, 
hurls  out  a  bolt  or  two  of  excommunication  :  lo,  one  disobe- 
dient Monk  sits  in  limbo,  excommunicated,  with  foot-shackles 
on  him,  all  day ;  and  three  more  our  Abbot  has  gyved  "  with 
the  lesser  sentence,  to  strike  fear  into  the  others  "  !  Let  the 
others  think  with  whom  they  have  to  do.  The  others  think ; 
and  fear  enters  into  them.  "  On  the  morrow  morning  we 
decide  on  humbling  ourselves  before  the  Abbot,  by  word  and 
gesture,  in  order  to  mitigate  his  mind.  And  so  accordingly 
was  done.  He,  on  the  other  side,  replying  with  much  humility, 
yet  always  alleging  his  own  justice  and  turning  the  blame  on 
us,  when  he  saw  that  we  were  conquered,  became  himself  con- 
quered. And  bursting  into  tears,  perfusus  lachrymis,  he  swore 
that  he  had  never  grieved  so  much  for  anything  in  the  world 
as  for  this,  first  on  his  own  account,  and  then  secondly  and 
chiefly  for  the  public  scandal  which  had  gone  abroad,  that  St. 
Edmund's  Monks  were  going  to  kill  their  Abbot.  And  when 
he  had  narrated  how  he  went  away  on  purpose  till  his  anger 
should  cool,  repeating  this  word  of  the  philosopher,  'I  would 
have  taken  vengeance  on  thee,  had  not  I  been  angry,'  he 
arose  weeping,  and  embraced  each  and  all  of  us  with  the  kiss 
of  peace.  He  wept ;  we  all  wept :  "  *  —  what  a  picture !  Be- 
have better,  ye  remiss  Monks,  and  thank  Heaven  for  such  an 
Abbot ;  or  know  at  least  that  ye  must  and  shall  obey  him. 

1  Jocrlini  Chronica,  p.  85. 


100  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  II. 

Worn  down  in  this  manner,  with  incessant  toil  and  tribula- 
tion, Abbot  Samson  had  a  sore  time  of  it ;  his  grizzled  hair  and 
beard  grew  daily  grayer.  Those  Jews,  in  the  first  four  years, 
had  "  visibly  emaciated  him  : "  Time,  Jews,  and  the  task  of 
Governing,  will  make  a  man's  beard  very  gray !  "In  twelve 
years,"  says  Jocelin,  "  our  Lord  Abbot  had  grown  wholly  white 
as  snow,  totus  efficitur  alb  us  sicut  nix."  White  atop,  like  the 
granite  mountains:  —  but  his  clear-beaming  eyes  still  look  out, 
in  their  stern  clearness,  in  their  sorrow  and  pity  ;  the  heart 
within  him  remains  unconquered. 

Nay  sometimes  there  are  gleams  of  hilarity  too;  little 
snatches  of  encouragement  granted  even  to  a  Governor.  '•  Once 
my  Lord  Abbot  and  I,  coining  down  from  London  through  the 
Forest,  I  inquired  of  an  old  woman  whom  we  came  up  to, 
Whose  wood  this  was,  and  of  what  manor;  who  the  master, 
who  the  keeper  ?  "  —  All  this  I  knew  very  well  beforehand, 
and  my  Lord  Abbot  too,  Bozzy  that  I  was !  But  "  the  old 
woman  answered,  The  wood  belonged  to  the  new  Abbot  of  St. 
Edmund's,  was  of  the  manor  of  Harlow,  and  the  keeper  of  it 
was  one  Arnald.  How  did  he  behave  to  the  people  of  the 
manor  ?  I  asked  farther.  She  answered  that  he  used  to  be  a 
devil  incarnate,  daemon  vivus,  an  enemy  of  God,  and  flayer  of 
the  peasants'  skins,"  —  skinning  them  like  live  eels,  as  the 
manner  of  some  is  :  "  but  that  now  he  dreads  the  new  Abbot, 
knowing  him  to  be  a  wise  and  sharp  man,  and  so  treats  the 
people  reasonably,  tractat  homines  pacifice."  Whereat  the 
Lord  Abbot  factus  est  hilaris,  —  could  not  but  take  a  trium- 
phant laugh  for  himself ;  and  determines  to  leave  that  Har- 
low manor  yet  unmeddled  with,  for  a  while.1 

A  brave  man,  strenuously  fighting,  fails  not  of  a  little  tri- 
umph now  and  then,  to  keep  him  in  heart.  Everywhere  we 
try  at  least  to  give  the  adversary  as  good  as  he  brings ;  and, 
with  swift  force  or  slow  watchful  manoeuvre,  extinguish  this 
and  the  other  solecism,  leave  one  solecism  less  in  God's  Crea- 
tion ;  and  so  proceed  with  our  battle,  not  slacken  or  surrender 
in  it !  The  Fifty  feudal  Knights,  for  example,  were  of  unjust 
greedy  temper,  and  cheated  us,  in  the  Installation-day,  of  ten 

1  Jocelini  Chronicci,  p.  24. 


CHAP.  XII.  THE  ABBOT'S  TROUBLES.  101 

knights'-fees ;  —  but  they  know  now  whether  that  has  profited 
them  aught,  and  I  Jocelin  know.  Our  Lord  Abbot  for  the 
moment  had  to  endure  it,  and  say  nothing ;  but  he  watched 
his  time. 

Look  also  how  my  Lord  of  Clare,  coming  to  claim  his  undue 
"  debt "  in  the  Court  of  Witham,  with  barons  and  apparatus, 
gets  a  Roland  for  his  Oliver  !  Jocelin  shall  report :  "  The 
Earl,  crowded  round  (constipatus)  with  many  barons  and  men- 
at-arms,  Earl  Alberic  and  others  standing  by  him,  said,  'That 
his  bailiffs  had  given  him  to  understand  they  were  wont  an- 
nually to  receive  for  his  behoof,  from  the  Hundred  of  Rise- 
bridge  and  the  bailiffs  thereof,  a  sum  of  five  shillings,  which 
sum  was  now  unjustly  held  back ; '  and  he  alleged  farther  that 
his  predecessors  had  been  infeft,  at  the  Conquest,  in  the  lands 
of  Alfric  son  of  Wisgar,  who  was  lord  of  that  Hundred,  as  may 
be  read  in  Domesday  Book  by  all  persons.  —  The  Abbot,  re- 
flecting for  a  moment,  without  stirring  from  his  place,  made 
answer :  '  A  wonderful  deficit,  my  Lord  Earl,  this  that  thou 
mentionest !  King  Edward  gave  to  St.  Edmund  that  entire 
Hundred,  and  confirmed  the  same  with  his  Charter ;  nor  is 
there  any  mention  there  of  those  five  shillings.  It  will  be- 
hoove thee  to  say,  for  what  service,  or  on  what  ground,  thou 
exactest  those  five  shillings.'  Whereupon  the  Earl,  consulting 
with  his  followers,  replied,  That  he  had  to  carry  the  Banner 
of  St.  Edmund  in  war-time,  and  for  this  duty  the  five  shillings 
were  his.  To  which  the  Abbot :  'Certainly,  it  seems  inglori- 
ous, if  so  great  a  man,  Earl  of  Clare  no  less,  receive  so  small 
a  gift  for  such  a  service.  To  the  Abbot  of  St.  Edmund's  it  is 
no  unbearable  burden  to  give  five  shillings.  But  Roger  Earl 
Bigot  holds  himself  duly  seised,  and  asserts  that  he  by  such 
seisin  has  the  office  of  carrying  St.  Edmund's  Banner  ;  and  lie 
did  carry  it  when  the  Earl  of  Leicester  and  his  Flemings  wen- 
beaten  at  Fornham.  Then  again  Thomas  de  Mendham  says 
that  the  right  is  his.  When  you  have  made  out  with  one 
another,  that  this  right  is  thine,  come  then  and  claim  the  five 
shillings,  and  I  will  promptly  pay  them  ! '  Whereupon  the 
Earl  said,  He  would  speak  with  Earl  Roger  his  relative  ;  and 
so  the  matter  crpit  dilationem,"  and  lies  undecided  to  the  end 


102  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  n. 

of  the  world.  Abbot  Samson  answers  by  word  or  act,  in  this 
or  the  like  pregnant  manner,  having  justice  on  his  side,  in- 
numerable persons  :  Pope's  Legates,  King's  Viscounts,  Canter- 
bury Archbishops,  Cellarers,  Sochemanni  ;  —  and  leaves  many 
a  solecism  extinguished. 

On  the  whole,  however,  it  .is  and  remains  sore  work.  "  One 
time,  during  my  chaplaincy,  I  ventured  to  say  to  him  :  '  Domine, 
I  heard  thee,  this  night,  after  matins,  wakeful,  and  sighing 
deeply,  valde  suspirantem,  contrary  to  thy  usual  wont.'  He, 
answered  :  '  No  wonder.  Thou,  son  Jocelin,  sharest  in  my  good 
things,  in  food  and  drink,  in  riding  and  such  like;  but  thou 
little  thinkest  concerning  the  management  of  House  and  Fam- 
ily, the  various  and  arduous  businesses  of  the  Pastoral  Care, 
which  harass  me,  and  make  my  soul  to  sigh  and  be  anxious.' 
Whereto  I,  lifting  up  my  hands  to  Heaven :  '  From  such 
anxiety,  Omnipotent  merciful  Lord  deliver  me  ! '  —  I  have 
heard  the  Abbot  say,  If  he  had  been  as  he  was  before  he  be- 
came a  Monk,  and  could  have  anywhere  got  five  or  six  marcs 
of  income,"  some  three-pound  ten  of  yearly  revenue,  "whereby 
to  support  himself  in  the  schools,  he  would  never  have  been 
Monk  nor  Abbot.  Another  time  he  said  with  an  oath,  If  he 
had  known  what  a  business  it  was  to  govern  the  Abbey,  he 
would  rather  have  been  Almoner,  how  much  rather  Keeper 
of  the  Books,  than  Abbot  and  Lord.  That  latter  office  he 
said  he  had  always  longed  for,  beyond  any  other.  Quls 
talia  crederet?"  concludes  Jocelin,  "Who  can  believe  such 
things?" 

Three-pound  ten,  and  a  life  of  Literature,  especially  of  quiet 
Literature,  without  copyright,  or  world-celebrity  of  literary- 
gazettes, —  yes,  thou  brave  Abbot  Samson,  for  thyself  it  had 
been  better,  easier,  perhaps  also  nobler  !  But  then,  for  thy 
disobedient  Monks,  unjust  Viscounts;  for  a  Domain  of  St. 
Edmund  overgrown  with  Solecisms,  human  and  other,  it  had 
not  been  so  well.  Nay  neither  could  thy  Literature,  never  so 
quiet,  have  been  easy.  Literature,  when  noble,  is  not  easy ; 
but  only  when  ignoble.  Literature  too  is  a  quarrel,  and  in- 
ternecine duel,  with  the  whole  World  of  Darkness  that  lies 
without  one  and  within  one  ;  —  rather  a  hard  fight  at  times, 


CHAP.  Xin.  IN  PARLIAMENT.  103 

even  with  the  three-pound  ten  secure.  Thou,  there  where 
thou  art,  wrestle  and  duel  along,  cheerfully  to  the  end ;  and 
make  no  remarks ! 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

IN    PARLIAMENT. 

OF  Abbot  Samson's  public  business  we  say  little,  though 
that  also  was  great.  He  had  to  judge  the  people  as  Justice 
Errant,  to  decide  in  weighty  arbitrations  and  public  controver- 
sies ;  to  equip  his  milites,  send  them  duly  in  war-time  to  the 
King ;  —  strive  every  way  that  the  Commonweal,  in  his  quarter 
of  it,  take  no  damage. 

Once,  in  the  contused  days  of  Lackland's  usurpation,  while 
Coeur-de-Lion  was  away,  our  brave  Abbot  took  helmet  himself, 
having  first  excommunicated  all  that  should  favor  Lackland ; 
and  led  his  men  in  person  to  the  siege  of  Windleshora,  what 
we  now  call  Windsor ;  where  Lackland  had  intrenched  himself, 
the  centre  of  infinite  confusions ;  some  Reform  Bill,  then  as 
now,  being  greatly  needed.  There  did  Abbot  Samson  "  fight 
the  battle  of  reform,"  —  with  other  ammunition,  one  hopes, 
than  "  tremendous  cheering  "  and  such  like  !  For  these  things 
he  was  called  '•  the  magnanimous  Abbot." 

He  also  attended  duly  in  his  place  in  Parliament  de  arduis 
regni ;  attended  especially,  as  in  arduissimo,  when  "the  news 
reached  London  that  King  Richard  was  a  captive  in  Germany." 
Here  "while  all  the  barons  sat  to  consult,"  and  many  of  them 
looked  blank  enough,  "the  Abbot  started  forth, prosiliit  coram 
omnibus,  in  his  place  in  Parliament,  and  said,  That  he  was 
ready  to  go  and  seok  his  Lord  the  King,  either  clandestinely 
by  subterfugo  (in  f«}>!iHi<jio'),  or  by  any  other  method ;  and 
search  till  ho  found  him,  and  got  certain  notice  of  him ;  he  for 
one  !  By  which  word."  says  .Tor-el  in,  "  he  acquired  great  praise 
for  himself,"  —  unfeigned  commendation  from  the  Able  Editors 
of  that  age. 


104  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  n. 

By  which,  word ;  —  and  also  by  which  deed :  for  the  Abbot 
actually  went  "  with  rich  gifts  to  the  King  in  Germany ;  "  1 
Usurper  Lackland  being  first  rooted  out  from  Windsor,  and 
the  King's  peace  somewhat  settled. 

As  to  these  "rich  gifts,"  however,  we  have  to  note  one  thing : 
In  all  England,  as  appeared  to  the  Collective  Wisdom,  there 
was  not  like  to  be  treasure  enough  for  ransoming  King  Rich- 
ard ;  in  which  extremity  certain  Lords  of  the  Treasury,  Jus- 
tif/iarii  ad  Scaccarium,  suggested  that  St.  Edmund's  Shrine, 
covered  with  thick  gold,  was  still  untouched.  Could  not  it,  in 
this  extremity,  be  peeled  off,  at  least  in  part ;  under  condition, 
of  course,  of  its  being  replaced  when  times  mended  ?  The 
Abbot,  starting  plumb  up,  se  erigens,  answered  :  "  Know  ye  for 
certain,  that  I  will  in  nowise  do  this  thing  ;  nor  is  there  any 
man  who  could  force  me  to  consent  thereto.  But  I  will  open 
the  doors  of  the  Church  :  Let  him  that  likes  enter  ;  let  him 
that  dares  come  forward  !  "  Emphatic  words,  which  created 
a  sensation  round  the  woolsack.  For  the  Justiciaries  of  the 
Scaccarium  answered,  "  with  oaths,  each  for  himself  :  '  I  won't 
come  forward,  for  my  share ;  nor  will  I,  nor  I !  The  distant 
and  absent  who  offended  him,  St.  Edmund  has  been  known 
to  punish  fearfully ;  much  more  will  he  those  close  by,  who 
lay  violent  hands  on  his  coat,  and  would  strip  it  off  ! '  These 
things  being  said,  the  Shrine  was  not  meddled  with,  nor  any 
ransom  levied  for  it."  2 

For  Lords  of  the  Treasury  have  in  all  times  their  impassable 
limits,  be  it  by  (-  force  of  public  opinion  "  or  otherwise ;  and 
in  those  days  a  heavenly  Awe  overshadowed  and  encompassed, 
as  it  still  ought  and  must,  all  earthly  Business  whatsoever. 

1  Jocdini  Chronicn,  pp.  39,  40.  -  Ib.  p.  71. 


CHAP.  XIV.  HENRY  OF   ESSEX.  10.') 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

HENRY    OF   ESSEX. 

OF  St.  Edmund's  fearful  avengements  have  they  not  the 
remarkablest  instance  still  before  their  eyes  ?  He  that  will  go 
to  Reading  Monastery  may  find  there,  now  tonsured  into  a 
mournful  penitent  Monk,  the  once  proud  Henry  Earl  of  Es- 
sex ;  and  discern  how  St.  Edmund  punishes  terribly,  yet  with 
mercy  !  This  Narrative  is  too  significant  to  be  omitted  as  a 
document  of  the  Time.  Our  Lord  Abbot,  once  on  a  visit  at 
Reading,  heard  the  particulars  from  Henry's  own  mouth  ; 
and  thereupon  charged  one  of  his  jnonks  to  write  it  down  ;  — 
as  accordingly  the  Monk  has  done,  in  ambitious  rhetorical 
Latin  ;  inserting  the  same,  as  episode,  among  Jocelin's  garru- 
lous leaves.  Read  it  here  ;  with  ancient  yet  with  modern 
eyes. 

Henry  Earl  of  Essex,  standard-bearer  of  England,  had  high 
places  and  emoluments;  had  a  haughty  high  soul,  yet  with 
various  flaws,  or  rather  with  one  many-branched  flaw  and 
crack,  running  through  the  texture  of  it.  For  example,  did 
he  not  treat  Gilbert  de  Cereville  in  the  most  shocking  manner  ? 
He  cast  Gilbert  into  prison;  and,  with  chains  and  slow  tor- 
ments, wore  the  life  out  of  him  there.  And  Gilbert's  crime 
was  understood  to  be  only  that  of  innocent  Joseph  :  the  Lady 
Essex  was  a  Potiphar's  Wife,  and  had  accused  poor  Gilbert ! 
Other  cracks,  and  branches  of  that  wide-spread  flaw  in  the 
Standard-bearer's  soul  we  could  point  out :  but  indeed  the 
main  stem  and  trunk  of  all  is  too  visible  in  this,  That  he  had 
no  right  reverence  for  the  Heavenly  in  Man,  —  that  far  from 
showing  due  reverence  to  St.  Edmund,  he  did  not  even  show 
him  common  justice.  "\Vhile  others  in  the  Eastern  Counties 
were  adorning  and  enlarging  with  rich  gifts  St.  Edmund's 


106  PAST  AND   PRESENT.  BOOK  II. 

resting-place,  which  had  become  a  city  of  refuge  for  many 
things,  this  Earl  of  Essex  flatly  defrauded  him,  by  violence  or 
quirk  of  law,  of  five  shillings  yearly,  and  converted  said  sum 
to  his  own  poor  uses  !  Nay,  in  another  case  of  litigation,  the 
unjust  Standard-bearer,  for  his  own  profit,  asserting  that  the 
cause  belonged  not  to  St.  Edmund's  Court,  but  to  his  in  Lai- 
land  Hundred,"  "involved  us  in  travellings  and  innumerable 
expenses,  vexing  the  servants  of  St.  Edmund  for  a  long  tract 
of  time."  In  short,  he  is  without  reverence  for  the  Heavenly, 
this  Standard-bearer;  reveres  only  the  Earthly,  Gold-coined; 
and  has  a  most  morbid  lamentable  flaw  in  the  texture  of  him. 
It  cannot  come  to  good. 

Accordingly,  the  same  flaw,  or  St.-Vitus'  tic,  manifests  itself 
ere  long  in  another  way.  In  the  year  1157,  he  went  with  his 
Standard  to  attend  King  Henry,  our  blessed  Sovereign  (whom 
we  saw  afterwards  at  Waltham),  in  his  War  with  the  Welsh. 
A  somewhat  disastrous  War  ,*  in  which  while  King  Henry  and 
his  force  were  struggling  to  retreat  Parthian-like,  endless 
clouds  of  exasperated  Welshmen  hemming  them  in,  and  now 
we  had  come  to  the  "  difficult  pass  of  Coleshill,"  and  as  it  were 
to  the  nick  of  destruction,  —  Henry  Earl  of  Essex  shrieks  out 
on  a  sudden  (blinded  doubtless  by  his  inner  flaw,  or  "  evil 
genius  "  as  some  name  it),  That  King  Henry  is  killed,  That 
all  is  lost, — and  flings  down  his  Standard  to  shift  for  itself 
there  !  And,  certainly  enough,  all  had  been  lost,  had  all  men 
been  as  he; — had  not  brave  men,  without  such  miserable 
jerking  tic-douloureux  in  the  souls  of  them,  come  dashing  up, 
with  blazing  swords  and  looks,  and  asserted,  That  nothing  was 
lost  yet,  that  all  must  be  regained  yet.  In  this  manner  King 
Henry  and  his  force  got  safely  retreated,  Parthian-like,  from 
the  pass  of  Coleshill  and  the  Welsh  War.1  But,  once  home 
again,  Earl  Robert  de  Montfort,  a  kinsman  of  this  Standard- 
bearer's,  rises  up  in  the  King's  Assembly  to  declare  openly 
that  such  a  man  is  unfit  for  bearing  English  Standards,  being 
in  fact  either  a  special  traitor,  or  something  almost  worse,  a 
coward  namely,  or  universal  traitor.  Wager  of  Battle  in  con- 
sequence; solemn  Duel,  by  the  King's  appointment,  "in  a 
1  See  Lyttelton's  Henry  1L,  ii.  384. 


CHAP.  XIV.  HENRY   OF   ESSEX.  107 

certain  Island  of  the  Thames-stream  at  Reading,  apud  Radhi- 
gasy  short  way  from  the  Abbey  there.''  King,  Peers,  and  an 
immense  multitude  of  people,  on  such  scaffoldings  and  heights 
as  they  can  come  at,  are  gathered  round,  to  see  what  issue  the 
business  will  take.  The  business  takes  this  bad  issue,  in  our 
Monk's  own  words  faithfully  rendered :  — 

"  And  it  came  to  pass,  while  Eobert  de  Montfort  thundered 
on  him  manfully  (ciriliter  intonassef)  with  hard  and  frequent 
strokes,  and  a  valiant  beginning  promised  the  fruit  of  victory, 
Henry  of  Essex,  rather  giving  way,  glanced  round  on  all  sides  ; 
and  lo,  at  the  rim  of  the  horizon,  on  the  confines  of  the  River 
and  land,  he  discerned  the  glorious  King  and  Martyr  Edmund, 
in  shining  armor,  and  as  if  hovering  in  the  air ;  looking 
towards  him  with  severe  countenance,  nodding  his  head  with 
a  mien  and  motion  of  austere  anger.  At  St.  Edmund's  hand 
there  stood  also  another  Knight,  Gilbert  de  Cereville,  whose 
armor  was  not  so  splendid,  whose  stature  was  less  gigantic : 
casting  vengeful  looks  at  him.  This  he  seeing  with  his  eyes, 
remembered  that  old  crime  brings  new  shame.  And  now 
wholly  desperate,  and  changing  reason  into  violence,  he  took 
the  part  of  one  blindly  attacking,  not  skilfully  defending. 
Who  while  he  struck  fiercely  was  more  fiercely  struck ;  and 
so,  in  short,  fell  down  vanquished,  and  it  was  thought  slain. 
As  he  lay  there  for  dead,  his  kinsmen.  Magnates  of  England, 
besought  the  King,  that  the  Monks  of  Reading  might  have 
leave  to  bury  him.  However,  he  proved  not  to  be  dead,  but 
got  well  again  among  them  ;  and  now,  with  recovered  health, 
assuming  the  Regular  Habit,  he  strove  to  wipe  out  the  stain 
of  his  former  life,  to  cleanse  the  long  week  of  his  dissolute 
history  by  at  least  a  purifying  sabbath,  and  cultivate  the 
studies  of  Virtue  into  fruits  of  eternal  Felicity."  l 

Thus  does  the  Conscience  of  man  project  itself  athwart 
whatsoever  of  knowledge  or  surmise,  of  imagination,  under- 
standing, faculty,  acquirement,  or  natural  disposition,  he  has 
in  him ;  and,  like  light  through  colored  glass,  paint  strange 
pictures  "  on  the  rim  of  the  horizon  "  and  elsewhere  !  Truly, 

1  Jocelini  Ctironiai,  p.  52. 


PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  II. 

this  same  "  sense  of  the  Infinite  nature  of  Duty  "  is  the  cen- 
tral part  of  all  with  us  ;  a  ray  as  of  Eternity  and  Immortality, 
immured  in  dusky  many-colored  Time,  and  its  deaths  and 
births.  Your  "  colored  glass  "  varies  so  much  from  century  to 
century; — and,  in  certain  money-making,  game-preserving 
centuries,  it  gets  so  terribly  opaque  !  Not  a  Heaven  with 
cherubim s  surrounds  you  then,  but  a  kind  of  vacant  leaden- 
colored  Hell.  One  day  it  will  again  cease  to  be  opaque,  this 
"  colored  glass."  Nay,  may  it  not  become  at  once  translucent 
and  tmcolored  ?  Painting  no  Pictures  more  for  us,  but  only 
the  everlasting  Azure  itself  ?  That  will  be  a  right  glorious 
consummation !  — 

St.  Edmund  from  the  horizon's  edge,  in  shining  armor, 
threatening  the  misdoer  in  his  hour  of  extreme  need :  it  is 
beautiful,  it  is  great  and  true.  So  old,  yet  so  modern,  actual ; 
true  yet  for  every  one  of  us,  as  for  Henry  the  Earl  and  Monk  ! 
A  glimpse  as  of  the  Deepest  in  Man's  Destiny,  which  is  the 
same  for  all  times  and  ages.  Yes,  Henry  my  brother,  there  in 
thy  extreme  need,  thy  soul  is  lamed  •  and  behold  thou  canst  not 
so  much  as  fight !  For  Justice  and  Reverence  are  the  everlasting 
central  Law  of  this  Universe ;  and  to  forget  them,  and  have  all 
the  Universe  against  one,  God  and  one's  own  Self  for  enemies, 
and  only  the  Devil  and  the  Dragons  for  friends,  is  not  that  a 
"  lameness  "  like  few  ?  That  some  shining  armed  St.  Edmund 
hang  minatory  on  thy  horizon,  that  infinite  sulphur-lakes  hang 
minatory,  or  do  not  now  hang,  — this  alters  no  whit  the  eternal 
fact  of  the  thing.  I  say,  thy  soul  is  lamed,  and  the  God  and 
all  Godlike  in  it  marred  :  lamed,  paralytic,  tending  towards 
baleful  eternal  death,  whether  thou  know  it  or  not ;  —  nay 
hadst  thou  never  known  it,  that  surely  had  been  worst  of 
all!  — 

Thus,  at  any  rate,  by  the  heavenly  Awe  that  overshadows 
earthly  Business,  does  Samson,  readily  in  those  days,  save 
St.  Edmund's  Shrine,  and  innumerable  still  more  precious 
things. 


CHAP.  XV.  PRACTICAL-DEVOTIONAL.  109 


CHAPTER   XV. 

PRACTICAL-DEVOTIONAL. 

HERE  indeed,  by  rule  of  antagonisms,  may  be  the  place  to 
mention  that,  after  King  Richard's  return,  there  was  a  liberty 
of  tourneying  given  to  the  fighting-men  of  England  :  that  a 
Tournament  was  proclaimed  in  the  Abbot's  domain,  "  between 
Thetford  and  St.  Edmundsbury,"  —  perhaps  in  the  Euston 
region,  on  Fakenham  Heights,  midway  between  these  two 
localities  :  that  it  was  publicly  prohibited  by  our  Lord  Abbot ; 
and  nevertheless  was  held  in  spite  of  him,  —  and  by  the  par- 
ties, as  would  seem,  considered  "  a  gentle  and  free  passage  of 
arms." 

Nay,  next  year,  there  came  to  the  same  spot  four-and-twenty 
young  men,  sons  of  Nobles,  for  another  passage  of  arms  ;  who, 
having  completed  the  same,  all  rode  into  St.  Edmundsbury  to 
lodge  for  the  night.  Here  is  modesty  !  Our  Lord  Abbot,  be- 
ing instructed  of  it,  ordered  the  Gates  to  be  closed ;  the  whole 
party  shut  in.  The  morrow  was  the  Vigil  of  the  Apostles 
Peter  and  Paul:  no  outgateonthe  morrow.  Giving  their  prom- 
ise not  to  depart  without  permission,  those  four-and-tweuty 
young  bloods  dieted  all  that  day  (manducavenint)  with  the 
Lord  Abbot,  waiting  for  trial  on  the  morrow.  "But  after 
dinner,"— mark  it,  posterity !  — "  the  Lord  Abbot  retiring 
into  his  Talamiu,  they  all  started  up,  and  began  carolling  and 
singing  (carolare  et  cantare) ;  sending  into  the  Town  for  wine ; 
drinking,  and  afterwards  howling  (ululantes) ;  —  totally  de- 
priving the  Abbot  and  Convent  of  their  afternoon's  nap ;  doing 
all  this  in  derision  of  the  Lord  Abbot,  and  spending  in  such 
fashion  the  whole  day  till  evening,  nor  would  they  desist  at 
the  Lord  Abbot's  order !  Night  coming  on,  they  broke  the 
bolts  of  the  Town-Gates,  and  went  off  by  violence ! "  *  Was 

1  Jocelini  Chronica,  p.  40. 


110  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  Book  lr. 

the  like  ever  heard  of  ?  The  roisterous  young  dogs ;  carol- 
ling, howling,  breaking  the  Lord  Abbot's  sleep,  —  after  that 
sinful  chivalry  cockfight  of  theirs  !  They  too  are  a  feature  of 
distant  centuries,  as  of  near  ones.  St.  Edmund  on  the  edge 
of  your  horizon,  or  whatever  else  there,  young  scamps,  in  the 
dandy  state,  whether  cased  in  iron  or  in  whalebone,  begin  to 
caper  and  carol  on  the  green  Earth  !  Our  Lord  Abbot  excom- 
municated most  of  them ;  and  they  gradually  came  in  for 
repentance. 

Excommunication  is  a  great  recipe  with  our  Lord  Abbot ; 
the  prevailing  purifier  in  those  ages.  Thus  when  the  Towns- 
folk and  Monks'  menials  quarrelled  once  at  the  Christmas 
Mysteries  in  St.  Edmund's  Churchyard,  and  "from  words  it 
came  to  cuffs,  and  from  cuffs  to  cutting  and  the  effusion  of 
blood,"  —  our  Lord  Abbot  excommunicates  sixty  of  the  rioters, 
with  bell,  book  and  candle  (accensis  candeUs),  at  one  stroke.1 
Whereupon  they  all  come  suppliant,  indeed  nearly  naked, 
"nothing  on  but  their  breeches,  omnino  nudi  prceter  femoralia, 
and  prostrate  themselves  at  the  Church-door."  Figure  that ! 

In  fact,  by  excommunication  or  persuasion,  by  impetuosity 
of  driving  or  adroitness  in  leading,  this  Abbot,  it  is  now  be- 
coming plain  everywhere,  is  a  man  that  generally  remains 
master  at  last.  He  tempers  his  medicine  to  the  malady,  now 
hot,  now  cool ;  prudent  though  fiery,  an  eminently  practical 
man.  Nay  sometimes  in  his  adroit  practice  there  are  swift 
turns  almost  of  a  surprising  nature !  Once,  for  example,  it 
chanced  that  Geoffry  Ridell,  Bishop  of  Ely,  a  Prelate  rather 
troublesome  to  our  Abbot,  made  a  request  of  him  for  timber 
from  his  woods  towards  certain  edifices  going  on  at  Glemsford. 
The  Abbot,  a  great  builder  himself,  disliked  the  request ;  could 
not,  however,  give  it  a  negative.  While  he  lay,  therefore,  at 
his  Manor-house  of  Melford  not  long  after,  there  comes  to  him 
one  of  the  Lord  Bishop's  men  or  monks,  with  a  message  from 
his  Lordship,  "That  he  now  begged  permission  to  cut  down 
the  requisite  trees  in  Elmswell  Wood,"  —  so  said  the  monk 
~E,lmswell,  where  there  are  no  trees  but  scrubs  and  shrubs,  in- 
stead of  ~E\mset,  our  true  nemus  and  high-towering  oak-wood, 

1  Jocelini  Chronica,  p.  68. 


CHAP.  XV.  PRACTICAL-DEVOTIONAL.  Ill 

here  on  Melford  Manor !  Elmswell  ?  The  Lord  Abbot,  in 
surprise,  inquires  privily  of  Richard  his  Forester;  Kichurd 
answers  that  my  Lord  of  Ely  has  already  had  his  carpentarii 
in  Elmsc'f,  and  marked  out  for  his  own  use  all  the  best  trees  in 
the  compass  of  it.  Abbot  Samson  thereupon  answers  the  monk : 
"  Elmswell  ?  Yes  surely,  be  it  us  my  Lord  Bishop  wishes." 
The  successful  monk,  0:1  the  morrow  morning,  hastens  home  to 
Ely ;  but,  on  the  morrow  morning,  '•'  directly  after  mass,"  Abbot 
Samson  too  was  busy !  The  successful  monk,  arriving  at  Ely, 
is  rated  for  a  goose  and  an  owl ;  is  ordered  back  to  say  that  Elm- 
set  was  the  place  meant.  Alas,  oil  arriving  at  Eluiset,  he  finds 
the  Bishop's  trees,  they  "and  a  hundred  more,*'  all  felled  and 
piled,  and  the  stamp  of  St.  Edmund's  Monastery  burnt  into 
them,  —  for  rooting  of  the  great  tower  we  are  building  there  ! 
Your  importunate  Bishop  must  seek  wood  for  Glemsford  edi- 
fices in  some  other  nemus  than  this.  A  practical  Abbot ! 

We  said  withal  there  was  a  terrible  flash  of  anger  in  him  : 
witness  his  address  to  old  Herbert  the  Dean,  who  in  a  too 
thrifty  manner  has  erected  a  windmill  for  himself  on  his 
glebe-lands  at  Haberdou.  On  the  morrow,  after  mass,  our 
Lord  Abbot  orders  the  Cellerarius  to  send  off  his  carpenters 
to  demolish  the  said  structure  brevl  manu,  and  lay  up  the 
wood  in  safe  keeping.  Old  Dean  Herbert,  hearing  what  was 
toward,  comes  tottering  along  hither,  to  plead  humbly  for 
himself  and  his  mill.  The  Abbot  answers :  "  I  am  obliged  to 
thee  as  if  thou  hadst  cut  off  both  my  feet !  By  God's  face, 
per  os  Del,  I  will  not  eat  bread  till  that  fabric  be  torn  in  pieces. 
Thou  art  an  old  man,  and  shouldst  have  known  that  neither 
the  King  nor  his  Justiciary  dare  change  aught  within  the 
Liberties  without  consent  of  Abbot  and  Convent :  and  thou 
hast  presumed  on  such  a  thing?  I  tell  thee,  it  will  not  be 
without  damage  to  my  mills ;  for  the  Townsfolk  will  go  to 
thy  mill,  and  grind  their  corn  (Madum  mtuni)  at  their  own 
good  pleasure;  nor  can  I  hinder  them,  since  they  are  free 
men.  I  will  allow  no  new  mills  on  such  principle.  Away, 
away ;  before  thou  gettest  home  again,  thou  shalt  see  what 
thy  mill  has  grown  to  ! "  l  —  The  very  reverend  the  old  Dean 

1  Jooelini  Chronica,  p.  43. 


112  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  II. 

totters  home  again,  in  all  haste ;  tears  the  mill  in  pieces  by 
his  own  carpentarii,  to  save  at  least  the  timber ;  and  Abbot 
Samson's  workmen,  coming  up,  find  the  ground  already  clear 
of  it. 

Easy  to  bully  down  poor  old  rural  Deans,  and  blow  their 
windmills  away :  but  who  is  the  man  that  dare  abide  King 
Richard's  anger ;  cross  the  Lion  in  his  path,  and  take  him 
by  the  whiskers  !  Abbot  Samson  too ;  he  is  that  man,  with 
justice  on  his  side.  The  case  was  this.  Adam  de  Cokefield, 
one  of  the  chief  feudatories  of  St.  Edmund,  and  a  principal 
man  in  the  Eastern  Counties,  died,  leaving  large  possessions, 
and  for  heiress  a  daughter  of  three  months ;  who  by  clear  law, 
as  all  men  know,  became  thus  Abbot  Samson's  ward ;  whom 
accordingly  he  proceeded  to  dispose  of  to  such  person  as 
seemed  fittest.  But  now  King  Eichard  has  another  person 
in  view,  to  whom  the  little  ward  and  her  great  possessions 
were  a  suitable  thing.  He,  by  letter,  requests  that  Abbot 
Samson  will  have  the  goodness  to  give  her  to  this  person. 
Abbot  Samson,  with  deep  humility,  replies  that  she  is  already 
given.  New  letters  from  Richard,  of  severer  tenor  ;  answered 
with  new  deep  humilities,  with  gifts  and  entreaties,  with  no 
promise  of  obedience.  King  Richard's  ire  is  kindled;  mes- 
sengers arrive  at  St.  Edmundsbury,  with  emphatic  message 
to  obey  or  tremble  !  Abbot  Samson,  wisely  silent  as  to  the 
King's  threats,  makes  answer  :  "  The  King  can  send  if  he  will, 
and  seize  the  ward :  force  and  power  he  has  to  do  his  pleasure, 
and  abolish  the  whole  Abbey.  But  I,  for  my  part,  never  can 
be  bent  to  wish  this  that  he  seeks,  nor  shall  it  by  me  be  ever 
done.  For  there  is  danger  lest  such  things  be  made  a  prece- 
dent of,  to  the  prejudice  of  my  successors.  Videat  Altissimus, 
Let  the  Most  High  look  on  it.  Whatsoever  thing  shall  befall 
I  will  patiently  endure." 

Such  was  Abbot  Samson's  deliberate  decision.  Why  not  ? 
Coeur-de-Lion  is  very  dreadful,  but  not  the  dreadfulest.  Videat 
Altissimm.  I  reverence  Coeur-de-Lion  to  the  marrow  of  my 
bones,  and  will  in  all  right  things  be  homo  suus  ;  but  it  is  not, 
properly  speaking,  with  terror,  with  any  fear  at  all.  On  the 


r.  XV.  PRACTICAL-DEVOTIONAL.  113 


,  have  I  not  looked  on  the  face  of  "  Satan  with  outspread 
wings;"  steadily  into  Hell-fire  these  seven-and-forty  years; 
—  and  was  not  melted  into  terror  even  at  that,  such  the  Lord's 
goodness  to  me  ?  Coeur-de-Lion  ! 

Richard  swore  tornado  oaths,  worse  than  our  armies  in 
Flanders,  To  be  revenged  on  that  proud  Priest.  But  in  the 
end  he  discovered  that  the  Priest  was  right  ;  and  forgave  him, 
and  even  loved  him.  "  King  Richard  wrote,  soon  after,  to 
Abbot  Samson,  That  he  wanted  one  or  two  of  the  St.  Edmunds- 
bury  dogs,  which  he  heard  were  good.''  Abbot  Samson  sent 
him  dogs  of  the  best  ;  Richard  replied  by  the  present  of  a 
ring,  which  Pope  Innocent  the  Third  had  given  him.  Thou 
brave  Richard,  thou  brave  Samson  !  Richard  too,  I  suppose, 
"  loved  a  man,"  and  knew  one  when  he  saw  him. 

No  one  will  accuse  our  Lord  Abbot  of  wanting  worldly 
wisdom,  due  interest  in  worldly  things.  A  skilful  man  ;  full 
of  cunning  insight,  lively  interests  ;  always  discerning  the 
road  to  his  object,  be  it  circuit,  be  it  short-cut,  and  victoriously 
travelling  forward  thereon.  Nay  rather  it  might  seem,  from 
Jocel  in's  Narrative,  as  if  he  had  his  eye  all  but  exclusively 
directed  on  terrestrial  matters,  and  was  much  too  secular  for 
a  devout  man.  But  this  too,  if  we  examine  it,  was  right. 
For  it  is  in  the  world  that  a  man,  devout  or  other,  has  his  life 
to  lead,  his  work  waiting  to  be  done.  The  basis  of  Abbot 
Samson's,  we  shall  discover,  was  truly  religion,  after  all. 
Returning  from  his  dusty  pilgrimage,  with  such  welcome  as 
we  saw,  "he  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  St.  Edmund's  Shrine." 
Not  a  talking  theory,  that  ;  no,  a  silent  practice  :  Thou,  St. 
Edmund,  with  what  lies  in  thee,  thou  now  must  help  me,  or 
none  will  ! 

This  also  is  a  significant  fact  :  the  zealous  interest  our 
Abbot  took  in  the  Crusades.  To  all  noble  Christian  hearts  of 
that  era,  what  earthly  enterprise  so  noble  ?  "  When  Henry  II., 
having  taken  the  cross,  came  to  St.  Edmund's,  to  pay  his 
devotions  before  setting  out,  the  Abbot  secretly  made  for 
himself  a  cross  of  linen  cloth  :  and,  holding  this  in  one  hand 
and  a  threaded  needle  in  the  other,  asked  leave  of  the  King 

VOL.    XII.  8 


PAST  AND   PRESENT.  BOOK  II 

to  assume  it."  The  King  could  not  spare  Samson  out  of  Eng- 
land ;  — the  King  himself  indeed  never  went.  But  the  Abbot's 
eye  was  set  on  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  as  on  the  spot  of  this 
Earth  where  the  true  cause  of  Heaven  was  deciding  itself. 
"  At  the  retaking  of  Jerusalem  by  the  Pagans,  Abbot  Samson 
put  on  a  cilice  and  hair-shirt,  and  wore  under-garments  of 
hair-cloth  ever  after ;  he  abstained  also  from  flesh  and  flesh- 
meats  (came  et  camels)  thenceforth  to  the  end  of  his  life." 
Like  a  dark  cloud  eclipsing  the  hopes  of  Christendom,  those 
tidings  cast  their  shadow  over  St.  Edmundsbury  too  :  Shall 
Samson  Abbas  take  pleasure  while  Christ's  Tomb  is  in  the 
hands  of  the  Infidel  ?  Samson,  in  pain  of  body,  shall  daily  be 
reminded  of  it,  daily  be  admonished  to  grieve  for  it. 

The  great  antique  heart:  how  like  a  child's  in  its  simplicity, 
like  a  man's  in  its  earnest  solemnity  and  depth  !  Heaven  lies 
over  him  wheresoever  he  goes  or  stands  on  the  Earth  ;  making 
all  the  Earth  a  mystic  Temple  to  him,  the  Earth's  business  all 
a  kind  of  worship.  Glimpses  of  bright  creatures  flash  in  the 
common  sunlight ;  angels  yet  hover  doing  God's  messages 
among  men :  that  rainbow  was  set  in  the  clouds  by  the  hand 
of  God  !  Wonder,  miracle  encompass  the  man ;  he  lives  in  an 
element  of  miracle ;  Heaven's  splendor  over  his  head,  Hell's 
darkness  under  his  feet.  A  great  Law  of  Duty,  high  as  these 
two  Infinitudes,  dwarfing  all  else,  annihilating  all  else,  —  mak- 
ing royal  Richard  as  small  as  peasant  Samson,  smaller  if  need 
be  !  —  The  "  imaginative  faculties  ?  "  "  Rude  poetic  ages  ?  " 
The  "  primeval  poetic  element  ? "  Oh,  for  God's  sake,  good 
reader,  talk  no  more  of  all  that !  It  was  not  a  Dilettantism 
this  of  Abbot  Samson.  It  was  a  Reality,  and  it  is  one.  The 
garment  only  of  it  is  dead ;  the  essence  of  it  lives  through  all 
Time  and  all  Eternity  !  — 

And  truly,  as  we  said  above,  is  not  this  comparative  silence 
of  Abbot  Samson  as  to  his  religion  precisely  the  healthiest 
sign  of  him  and  of  it  ?  "  The  Unconscious  is  the  alone  Com- 
plete." Abbot  Samson  all  along  a  busy  working  man,  as  all 
men  are  bound  to  be,  his  religion,  his  worship  was  like  his 
daily  bread  to  him  ;  —  which  he  did  not  take  the  trouble  to 


CHAP.  XV.  PRACTICAL-DEVOTIONAL.  115 

talk  much  about ;  which  he  merely  ate  at  stated  intervals,  and 
lived  and  did  his  work  upon  !  This  is  Abbot  Samson's  Ca- 
tholicism of  the  Twelfth  Century  ;  —  something  like  the  Ism 
of  all  true  men  in  all  true  centuries,  I  fancy  !  Alas,  compared 
with  any  of  the  Isms  current  in  these  poor  days,  what  a  thing ! 
Compared  with  the  respectablest,  morbid,  struggling  Method- 
ism, never  so  earnest ;  with  the  respectablest,  ghastly,  dead  or 
galvanized  Dilettantism,  never  so  spasmodic  ! 

Methodism  with  its  eye  forever  turned  on  its  own  navel ; 
asking  itself  with  torturing  anxiety  of  Hope  and  Fear,  "  Am 
I  right  ?  am  I  wrong  ?  Shall  I  be  saved  ?  shall  I  not  be 
damned  ?  "  —  what  is  this,  at  bottom,  but  a  new  phasis  of 
Egoism,'  stretched  out  into  the  Infinite  ;  not  always  the  heaveii- 
lier  for  its  infinitude  !  Brother,  so  soon  as  possible,  endeavor 
to  rise  above  all  that.  "  Thou  art  wrong  ;  thou  art  like  to  be 
damned :  "  consider  that  as  the  fact,  reconcile  thyself  even  to 
that,  if  thou  be  a  man  ;  —  then  first  is  the  devouring  Universe 
subdued  under  thee,  and  from  the  black  murk  of  midnight  and 
noise  of  greedy  Acheron,  dawn  as  of  an  everlasting  morning, 
how  far  above  all  Hope  and  all  Fear,  springs  for  thee,  en- 
tighteniug  thy  steep  path,  awakening  in  thy  heart  celestial 
Memnon's  music ! 

But  of  our  Dilettantisms,  and  galvanized  Dilettantisms ;  of 
Puseyism  —  0  Heavens,  what  shall  we  say  of  Puseyism,  in 
comparison  to  Twelfth-Century  Catholicism  ?  Little  or  noth- 
ing ;  for  indeed  it  is  a  matter  to  strike  one  dumb. 

The  Builder  of  this  Universe  was  wise, 

He  plann'd  all  souls,  all  systems,  planets,  particles  : 

The  Plau  He  shap'd  all  Worlds  and  vKons  by, 

Was  —  Heavens  !  —  Was  thy  small  Nine-aud-thirty  Articles  ? 

That  certain  human  souls,  living  on  this  practical  Earth, 
should  think  to  save  themselves  and  a  ruined  world  by  noisy 
theoretic  demonstrations  and  laudations  of  the  Church,  instead 
of  some  unuoisy,  unconscious,  but  practical,  total,  heart-and- 
soul  demonstration  of  a  Church  :  this,  in  the  circle  of  revolv- 
ing ages,  this  also  was  a  thing  we  were  to  see.  A  kind  of 
penultimate  thing,  precursor  of  very  strange  consummations  ; 


116  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  II. 

last  thing  but  one  ?  If  there  is  no  atmosphere,  what  will  it 
serve  a  man  to  demonstrate  the  excellence  of  lungs  ?  How 
much  profitabler,  when  you  can,  like  Abbot  Samson,  breathe  ; 
and  go  along  your  way  ! 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

ST.    EDMUND. 

ABBOT  SAMSOX  built  many  useful,  many  pious  edifices ;  hu- 
man dwellings,  churches,  church-steeples,  barns  ;  —  all  fallen 
now  and  vanished,  but  useful  while  they  stood.  He  built  and 
endowed  "  the  Hospital  of  Babwell ;  "  built  "  fit  houses  for 
the  St.  Edmuudsbury  Schools."  Many  are  the  roofs  once 
"  thatched  with  reeds  "  which  he  '•  caused  to  be  covered  with 
tiles ;  "  or  if  they  were  churches,  probably  "  with  lead."  For 
all  ruinous  incomplete  things,  buildings  or  other,  were  an 
eye-sorrow  to  the  man.  We  saw  his  "  great  tower  of  St. 
Edmund's  ;  "  or  at  least  the  roof-timbers  of  it,  lying  cut  and 
stamped  in  Elmset  Wood.  To  change  combustible  decaying 
reed-thatch  into  tile  or  lead ;  and  material,  still  more,  moral 
wreck  into  rain-tight  order,  what  a  comfort  to  Samson  ! 

One  of  the  things  he  could  not  in  any  wise  but  rebuild  was 
the  great  Altar,  aloft  on  which  stood  the  Shrine  itself;  the 
great  Altar,  which  had  been  damaged  by  fire,  by  the  careless 
rubbish  and  careless  candle  of  two  somnolent  Monks,  one 
night,  — the  Shrine  escaping  almost  as  if  by  miracle  !  Abbot 
Samson  read  his  Monks  a  severe  lecture  :  "  A  Dream  one  of  us 
had,  that  he  saw  St.  Edmund  naked  and  in  lamentable  plight. 
Know  ye  the  interpretation  of  that  Dream  ?  St.  Edmund  pro- 
claims himself  naked,  because  ye  defraud  the  naked  Poor  of 
your  old  clothes,  and  give  with  reluctance  what  ye  are  bound 
to  give  them  of  meat  and  drink :  the  idleness  moreover  and 
negligence  of  the  Sacristan  and  his  people  is  too  evident 
from  the  -late  misfortune  by  fire.  Well  might  our  Holy 


CHAP.  XVI.  ST.  EDMUND.  117 

Martyr  seem  to  lie  cast  out  from  his  Shrine,  and  say  with 
groans  that  he  was  stript  of  his  garments,  and  wasted  with 
hunger  and  thirst ! " 

This  is  Abbot  Samson's  interpretation  of  the  Dream;  — 
diametrically  the  reverse  of  that  given  by  the  Monks  them- 
selves, who  scruple  not  to  say  privily,  "  It  is  we  that  are  the 
naked  and  famished  limbs  of  the  Martyr;  we  whom  the  Abbot 
curtails  of  all  our  privileges,  setting  his  own  official  to  control 
our  very  Cellarer  ! "  Abbot  Samson  adds,  that  this  judgment 
by  tire  has  fallen  upon  them  for  murmuring  about  their  meat 
and  drink. 

Clearly  enough,  meanwhile,  the  Altar,  whatever  the  burning 
of  it  mean  or  foreshadow,  must  needs  be  re-edified.  Abbot 
Samson  re-edifies  it,  all  of  polished  marble ;  with  the  highest 
stretch  of  art  and  sumptuosity,  re-embellishes  the  Shrine  for 
which  it  is  to  serve  as  pediment.  Nay  farther,  as  had  ever 
been  among  his  prayers,  he  enjoys,  he  sinner,  a  glimpse  of  the 
glorious  Martyr's  very  Body  in  the  process ;  having  solemnly 
opened  the  Loculus,  Chest  or  sacred  Coffin,  for  that  purpose. 
It  is  the  culminating  moment  of  Abbot  Samson's  life.  Bozzy 
Jocelin  himself  rises  into  a  kind  of  Psalmist  solemnity  on  this 
occasion ;  the  laziest  monk  "  weeps  "  warm  tears,  as  Te  Deum 
is  sung. 

Very  strange  ; — how  far  vanished  from  us  in  these  un wor- 
shipping ages  of  ours !  The  Patriot  Hampden,  best  beatified 
man  we  have,  had  lain  in  like  manner  some  two  centuries  in 
his  narrow  home,  when  certain  dignitaries  of  us,  "and  twelve 
grave-diggers  with  pulleys,"  raised  him  also  up,  under  clone1 
of  night,  cut  off  his  arm  with  penknives,  pulled  the  scalp  off 
his  head,  —  and  otherwise  worshipped  our  Hero  Saint  in  the 
most  amazing  manner ! 1  Let  the  modern  eye  look  earnestly 
on  that  old  midnight  hour  in  St.  Edmundsbury  Church,  shin- 
ing yet  on  us,  ruddy-bright,  through  the  depths  of  seven 
hundred  years  ;  and  consider  mournfully  what  our  Hero- 
worship  once  was,  and  what  it  now  is  !  We  translate  with 
all  the  fidelity  we  can  :  — 

"  The  Festival  of  St.  Edmund  now  approaching,  the  marble 

1  Annual  Regi$ttr  (year  1828,  Chronicle,  p.  9.1),  flfntleman's  Magazine,  &c.  Ac. 


118  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  ir. 

blocks  are  polished,  and  all  things  are  in  readiness  for  lifting 
of  the  Shrine  to  its  new  place.  A  fast  of  three  days  was  held 
by  all  the  people,  the  cause  and  meaning  thereof  being  publicly 
set  forth  to  them.  The  Abbot  announces  to  the  Convent  that 
all  must  prepare  themselves  for  transferring  of  the  Shrine, 
and  appoints  time  and  way  for  the  work.  Coming  therefore 
that  night  to  matins,  we  found  the  great  Shrine  (feretrum 
magnum)  raised  upon  the  Altar,  but  empty ;  covered  all  over 
with  white  doeskin  leather,  fixed  to  the  wood  with  silver 
nails ;  but  one  panel  of  the  Shrine  was  left  down  below,  and 
resting  thereon,  beside  its  old  column  of  the  Church,  the 
Loculus  with  the  Sacred  Body  yet  lay  where  it  was  wont. 
Praises  being  sung,  we  all  proceeded  to  commence  our  disci- 
plines (ad  disciplinas  suscipiendas).  These  finished,  the  Abbot 
and  certain  with  him  are  clothed  in  their  albs  ;  and,  approach- 
ing reverently,  set  about  uncovering  the  Loculus.  There  was 
an  outer  cloth  of  linen,  enwrapping  the  Loculus  and  all ;  this 
we  found  tied  on  the  upper  side  with  strings  of  its  own. 
within  this  was  a  cloth  of  silk,  and  then  another  linen  clotk, 
and  then  a  third ;  and  so  at  last  the  Loculus  was  uncovered, 
and  seen  resting  on  a  little  tray  of  wood,  that  the  bottom  of 
it  might  not  be  injured  by  the  stone.  Over  the  breast  of  the 
Martyr,  there  lay,  fixed  to  the  surface  of  the  Loculus,  a  Golden 
Angel  about  the  length  of  a  human  foot ;  holding  in  one  hand 
a  golden  sword,  and  in  the  other  a  banner :  under  this  there 
was  a  hole  in  the  lid  of  the  Loculus,  on  which  the  ancient 
servants  of  the  Martyr  had  been  wont  to  lay  their  hands  for 
touching  the  Sacred  Body.  And  over  the  figure  of  the  Angel 
was  this  verse  inscribed :  — 

Martin's  ecce  zoma  servat  Michaelis  agnlma.1 

At  the  head  and  foot  of  the  Loculus  were  iron  rings  whereby 
it  could  be  lifted. 

"  Lifting  the  Loculus  and  Body,  therefore,  they  carried  it  to 

the  Altar;  and  I  put  to  my  sinful  hand  to  help  in  carrying, 

though  the  Abbot  had  commanded  that  none  should  approach 

except  called.     And  the  Loculus  was  placed  in  the  Shrine; 

1  "  This  is  the  Martyr's  Garment,  which  Michael's  Image  guards." 


CHAP.  XVI.  ST.  EDMUND.  119 

and  the  panel  it  had  stood  on  was  put  in  its  place,  and  the 
Shrine  for  the  present  closed.  We  all  thought  that  the  Abbot 
would  show  the  Loculus  to  the  people ;  and  bring  out  the 
Sacred  Body  again,  at  a  certain  period  of  the  Festival.  But 
in  this  we  were  wofully  mistaken,  as  the  sequel  shows. 

"For  in  the  fourth  holiday  of  the  Festival,  while  the  Con- 
vent were  all  singing  Completorium,  our  Lord  Abbot  spoke 
privily  with  the  Sacristan  and  Walter  the  Medicus;  and  order 
was  taken  that  twelve  of  the  Brethren  should  be  appointed 
against  midnight,  who  were  strong  for  carrying  the  panel- 
planks  of  the  Shrine,  and  skilful  in  unfixing  them,  and  put- 
ting them  together  again.  The  Abbot  then  said  that  it  was 
among  his  prayers  to  look  once  upon  the  Body  of  his  Patron ; 
and  that  he  wished  the  Sacristan  and  Walter  the  Medicus  to 
be  with  him.  The  Twelve  appointed  Brethren  were  these: 
The  Abbot's  two  Chaplains,  the  two  Keepers  of  the  Shrine, 
the  two  Masters  of  the  Vestry ;  and  six  more,  namely,  the 
Sacristan  Hugo,  Walter  the  Medicus,  Augustin,  William  of 
Dice,  Robert,  and  Richard.  I,  alas,  was  not  of  the  number. 

"The  Convent  therefore  being  all  asleep,  these  Twelve, 
clothed  in  their  albs,  with  the  Abbot,  assembled  at  the  Altar ; 
and  opening  a  panel  of  the  Shrine,  they  took  out  the  Loculus ; 
laid  it  on  a  table,  near  where  the  Shrine  used  to  be ;  and  made 
ready  for  unfastening  the  lid,  which  was  joined  and  fixed  to 
the  Loculus  with  sixteen  very  long  nails.  Which  when,  with 
difficulty,  they  had  done,  all  except  the  two  forenamed  asso- 
ciates are  ordered  to  draw  back.  The  Abbot  and  they  two 
were  alone  privileged  to  look  in.  The  Loculus  was  so  filled 
with  the  Sacred  Body  that  you  could  scarcely  put  a  needle 
between  the  head  and  the  wood,  or  between  the  feet  and  the 
wood  :  the  head  lay  united  to  the  body,  a  little  raised  witlx 
a  small  pillow.  But  the  Abbot,  looking  close,  found  now  a 
silk  cloth  veiling  the  whole  Body,  and  then  a  linen  cloth  of 
wondrous  whiteness ;  and  upon  the  head  was  spread  a  small 
linen  cloth,  and  then  another  small  and  most  fine  silk  cloth, 
as  if  it  were  the  veil  of  a  nun.  These  coverings  being  lifted 
off,  they  found  now  the  Sacred  Body  all  wrapt  in  linen  ;  and 
so  at  length  the  lineaments  of  the  same  appeared.  But  here 


120  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  n 

the  Abbot  stopped ;  saying  he  durst  not  proceed  farther,  or 
look  at  the  sacred  flesh  naked.  Taking  the  head  between 
his  hands,  he  thus  spake,  groaning :  '  Glorious  Martyr,  holy 
Edmund,  blessed  be  the  hour  when  thou  wert  born.  Glorious 
Martyr,  turn  it  not  to  my  perdition  that  I  have  so  dared  to 
touch  thee,  I  miserable  and  sinful ;  thou  knowest  my  devout 
love,  and  the  intention  of  my  mind.'  And  proceeding,  he 
touched  the  eyes ;  and  the  nose,  which  was  very  massive  and 
prominent  (yalde  grossum  et  valde  eminentem) ;  and  then  he 
touched  the  breast  and  arms ;  and  raising  the  left  arm  he 
touched  the  fingers,  and  placed  his  own  ringers  between  the 
sacred  ringers.  And  proceeding  he  found  the  feet  standing 
stiff  up,  like  the  feet  of  a  man  dead  yesterday ;  and  he  touched 
the  toes  and  counted  them  (tanyendo  numeravit). 

"  And  now  it  was  agreed  that  the  other  Brethren  should  be 
called  forward  to  see  the  miracles  ;  and  accordingly  those  ten 
now  advanced,  and  along  with  them  six  others  who  had  stolen 
in  without  the  Abbot's  assent,  namely,  Walter  of  St.  Alban's, 
Hugh  the  Infirmirarius,  Gilbert  brother  of  the  Prior,  Richard 
of  Henham,  Jocellus  our  Cellarer,  and  Turstan  the  Little ;  and 
all  these  saw  the  Sacred  Body,  but  Turstan  alone  of  them  put 
forth  his  hand,  and  touched  the  Saint's  knees  and  feet.  And 
that  there  might  be  abundance  of  witnesses,  one  of  our  Breth- 
ren, John  of  Dice,  sitting  on  the  roof  of  the  Church,  with  the 
servants  of  the  Vestry,  and  looking  through,  clearly  saw  all 
these  things." 

What  a  scene  ;  shining  luminous  effulgent,  as  the  lamps  of 
St.  Edmund  do,  through  the  dark  Night ;  John  of  Dice,  with 
vestrymen,  clambering  on  the  roof  to  look  through  ;  the  Con- 
vent all  asleep,  and  the  Earth  all  asleep,  —  and  since  then, 
Seven  Centuries  of  Time  mostly  gone  to  sleep  !  Yes,  there, 
sure  enough,  is  the  martyred  Body  of  Edmund,  landlord  of  the 
Eastern  Counties,  who,  nobly  doing  what  he  liked  with  his 
own,  was  slain  three  hundred  years  ago :  and  a  noble  awe  sur- 
rounds the  memory  of  him,  symbol  and  promoter  of  many 
other  right  noble  things. 

But  have  not  we  now  advanced  to  strange  new  stages  of 


CHAP.  XVI.  ST.  EDMUND.  121 

Hero-worship,  now  in  the  little  Church  of  Hampden,  with  our 
penknives  out,  and  twelve  grave-diggers  with  pulleys  ?  The 
manner  of  men's  Hero-worship,  verily  it  is  the  innermost  fact 
of  their  existence,  and  determines  all  the  rest,  —  at  public 
hustings,  in  private  drawing-rooms,  in  church,  in  market,  and 
wherever  else.  Have  true  reverence,  and  what  indeed  is  in- 
separable therefrom,  reverence  the  right  man,  all  is  well ;  have 
sham-reverence,  and  what  also  follows,  greet  with  it  the  wrong 
man,  then  all  is  ill,  and  there  is  nothing  well.  Alas,  if  Hero- 
worship  become  Dilettantism,  and  all  except  Mammonism  be 
a  vain  grimace,  how  much,  in  this  most  earnest  Earth,  has 
gone  and  is  evermore  going  to  fatal  destruction,  and  lies  wast- 
ing in  quiet  lazy  ruin,  no  man  regarding  it !  Till  at  length  no 
heavenly  Ism  any  longer  coming  down  upon  us,  Isms  from  the 
other  quarter  have  to  mount  up.  For  the  Earth,  I  say,  is  an 
earnest  place  ;  Life  is  no  grimace,  but  a  most  serious  fact. 
And  so,  under  universal  Dilettantism  much  having  been  stript 
bare,  not  the  souls  of  men  only,  but  their  very  bodies  and 
bread-cupboards  having  been  stript  bare,  and  life  now  no  longer 
possible,  —  all  is  reduced  to  desperation,  to  the  iron  law  of 
Necessity  and  very  Fact  again  ;  and  to  temper  Dilettantism, 
and  astonish  it,  and  burn  it  up  with  infernal  fire,  arises  Chart- 
ism, Bare-back-um,  Sansculottism  so'  called  !  May  the  gods, 
and  what  of  unworshipped  heroes  still  remain  among  us,  avert 
the  omen  !  — 

But  however  this  may  be,  St.  Edmund's  Loculus,  we  find, 
has  the  veils  of  silk  and  linen  reverently  replaced,  the  lid 
fastened  down  again  with  its  sixteen  ancient  nails ;  is  wrapt 
in  a  new  costly  covering  oi'  silk,  the  gift  of  Hubert  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury  :  and  through  the  sky-window  John  of  Dice  sees 
it  lifted  to  its  place  in  the  Shrine,  the  panels  of  this  latter 
duly  refixed,  fit  parchment  documents  being  introduced  withal ; 
—  and  now  John  and  his  vestrymen  can  slide  down  from  the 
roof,  for  all  is  over,  and  the  Convent  wholly  awakens  to  matins. 
"  When  we  assembled  to  sing  matins,"  says  Jocelin,  "  and 
understood  what  had  been  done,  grief  took  hold  of  all  that 
had  not  seen  these  things,  each  saying  to  himself, '  Alas,  I  was 


122  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  II. 

deceived.'  Matins  over,  the  Abbot  called  the  Convent  to  the 
great  Altar  ;  and  briefly  recounting  the  matter,  alleged  that  it 
had  not  been  in  his  power,  nor  was  it  permissible  or  fit,  to 
invite  us  all  to  the  sight  of  such  things.  At  hearing  of  which, 
we  all  wept,  and  with  tears  sang  Te  Deum  laudamus ;  and 
hastened  to  toll  the  bells  in  the  Choir." 

Stupid  blockheads,  to  reverence  their  St.  Edmund's  dead  Body 
in  this  manner  ?  Yes,  brother  ;  — and  yet,  on  the  whole,  who 
knows  how  to  reverence  the  Body  of  a  Man?  It  is  the  most 
reverend  phenomenon  under  this  Sun.  For  the  Highest  God 
dwells  visible  in  that  mystic  unfathomable  Visibility,  which 
calls  itself  "  I  "  on  the  Earth.  "  Bending  before  men,"  says 
Novalis,  "  is  a  reverence  done  to  this  Revelation  in  the  Flesh. 
We  touch  Heaven  when  we  lay  our  hand  on  a  human  Body." 
And  the  Body  of  one  Dead  ;  —  a  temple  where  the  Hero-soul 
once  was  and  now  is  not :  Oh,  all  mystery,  all  pity,  all  mute 
awe  and  wonder ;  *Svw/jernaturalism  brought  home  to  the  very 
dullest ;  Eternity  laid  open,  and  the  nether  Darkness  and  the 
upper  Light-Kingdoms,  do  conjoin  there,  or  exist  nowhere  . 
Sauerteig  used  to  say  to  me,  in  his  peculiar  way  :  "  A  Chancery 
Lawsuit ;  justice,  nay  justice  in  mere  money,  denied  a  man, 
for  all  his  pleading,  till  twenty,  till  forty  years  of  his  Life  are 
gone  seeking  it :  and  a  Cockney  Funeral,  Death  reverenced  by 
hatchments,  horse-hair,  brass-lacquer,  and  unconcerned  bipeds 
carrying  long  poles  and  bags  of  black  silk  :  —  are  not  these  two 
reverences,  this  reverence  for  Death  and  that  reverence  for 
Life,  a  notable  pair  of  reverences  among  you  English  ?  " 

Abbot  Samson,  at  this  culminating  point  of  his  existence, 
may,  and  indeed  must,  be  left  to  vanish  with  his  Life-scenery 
from  the  eyes  of  modern  men.  He  had  to  run  into  France,  to 
settle  with  King  Richard  for  the  military  service  there  of  his 
St.  Edmundsbury  Knights ;  and  with  groat  labor  got  it  done. 
He  had  to  decide  on  the  dilapidated  Coventry  Monks  ;  and 
with  great  labor,  and  much  pleading  and  journeying,  got  them 
reinstated ;  dined  with  them  all,  and  with  the  "  Masters  of  the 
Schools  of  Oxneford,"  —  the  veritable  Oxford  Caput  sitting 
there  at  dinner,  in  a  dim  but  undeniable  manner,  in  the  City 
of  Peeping  Tom !  He  had,  not  without  labor,  to  controvert 


CHAP.  XVII.  THE   BEGINNINGS.  123 

the  intrusive  Bishop  of  Ely,  the  intrusive  Abbot  of  Cluny. 
Magnanimous  Samson,  his  life  is  but  a  labor  and  a  journey  ;  a 
bustling  and  a  justling,  till  the  still  Xight  come.  He  is  sent 
for  again,  over  sea,  to  advise  King  Richard  touching  certain 
Peers  of  England,  who  had  taken  the  Cross,  but  never  followed 
it  to  Palestine  ;  whom  the  Pope  is  inquiring  after.  The  mag- 
nanimous Abbot  makes  preparation  for  departure ;  departs, 
and  —  And  Jocelin's  Boswellian  Narrative,  suddenly  shorn 
through  by  the  scissors  of  Destiny,  ends.  There  are  no  words 
more  ;  but  a  black  line,  and  leaves  of  blank  paper.  Irremedi- 
able :  the  miraculous  hand,  that  held  all  this  theatric-machinery, 
suddenly  quits  hold ;  impenetrable  Time-Curtains  rush  down  ; 
in  the  mind's  eye  all  is  again  dark,  void  ;  with  loud  dinning  in 
the  mind's  ear,  our  real-phantasmagory  of  St.  Edmundsbury 
plunges  into  the  bosom  of  the  Twelfth  Century  again,  and 
all  is  over.  Monks,  Abbot,  Hero-worship,  Government,  Obe- 
dience, Cosur-de-Lion  and  St.  Edmund's  Shrine,  vanish  like 
Mirza's  Vision  ;  and  there  is  nothing  left  but  a  mutilated  black 
Kuin  amid  green  botanic  expanses,  and  oxen,  sheep  and  dilet- 
tanti pasturing  in  their  places. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE    BEGINNINGS. 

WHAT  a  singular  shape  of  a  Man,  shape  of  a  Time,  have  we 
in  this  Abbot  Samson  and  his  history ;  how  strangely  do  modes, 
creeds,  formularies,  and  the  date  and  place  of  a  man's  birth, 
modify  the  figure  of  the  man  ! 

Formulas  too,  as  we  call  them,  have  a  reality  in  Human  Life. 
They  are  real  as  the  very  skin  and  muscular  tissue  of  a  Man's 
Life  ;  and  a  most  blessed  indispensable  thing,  so  long  as  they 
have  vitality  withal,  and  are  a  living  skin  and  tissue  to  him  ! 
No  man,  or  man's  life,  can  go  abroad  and  do  business  in  the 
world  without  skin  and  tissues.  No ;  first  of  all,  these  hav? 


124  PAST   AND   PRESENT.  BOOK  IL 

to  fashion  themselves,  —  as  indeed  they  spontaneously  and 
inevitably  do.  Foam  itself,  and  this  is  worth  thinking  of,  can 
harden  into  oyster-shell ;  all  living  objects  do  by  necessity 
form  to  themselves  a  skin. 

And  yet,  again,  when  a  man's  Formulas  become  dead  ;  as  all 
Formulas,  in  the  progress  of  living  growth,  are  very  sure  to 
do  !  When  the  poor  man's  integuments,  no  longer  nourished 
from  within,  become  dead  skin,  mere  adscititious  leather  and 
callosity,  wearing  thicker  and  thicker,  uglier  and  uglier  ;  till 
no  heart  any  longer  can  be  felt  beating  through  them,  so  thick, 
callous,  calcined  are  they  ;  and  all  over  it  has  now  grown  mere 
calcined  oyster-shell,  or  were  it  polished  mother-of-pearl,  in- 
wards almost  to  the  very  heart  of  the  poor  man  :  — yes  then, 
you  may  say,  his  usefulness  once  more  is  quite  obstructed ; 
once  more,  he  cannot  go  abroad  and  do  business  in  the  world ; 
it  is  time  that  he  take  to  bed,  and  prepare  for  departure,  which 
cannot  now  be  distant ! 

Ubi  homines  sunt  modi  sunt.  Habit  is  the  deepest  law  of 
human  nature.  It  is  our  supreme  strength;  if  also,  in  cer- 
tain circumstances,  our  miserablest  weakness.  —  From  Stoke  to 
Stowe  is  as  yet  a  field,  all  pathless,  untrodden :  from  Stoke 
where  I  live,  to  Stowe  where  I  have  to  make  my  merchandises, 
perform  my  businesses,  consult  my  heavenly  oracles,  there  is 
as  yet  no  path  or  human  footprint ;  and  I,  impelled  by  such 
necessities,  must  nevertheless  undertake  the  journey.  Let  me 
go  once,  scanning  my  way  with  any  earnestness  of  outlook,  and 
successfully  arriving,  my  footprints  are  an  invitation  to  me  a 
second  time  to  go  by  the  same  way.  It  is  easier  than  any  other 
way  :  the  industry  of  "  scanning  "  lies  already  invested  in  it 
for  me ;  I  can  go  this  time  with  less  of  scanning,  or  without 
scanning  at  all.  Nay  the  very  sight  of  my  footprints,  what  a 
comfort  for  me  ;  and  in  a  degree,  for  all  my  brethren  of  man- 
kind !  The  footprints  are  trodden  and  retrodden ;  the  path 
wears  ever  broader,  smoother,  into  a  broad  highway,  where 
even  wheels  can  run;  and  many  travel  it;  —  till — till  the 
Town  of  Stowe  disappear  from  that  locality  (as  towns  have 
been  known  to  do),  or  no  merchandising,  heavenly  oracle,  or 
real  business  any  longer  exist  for  one  there  :  then  why  should 


CHAP.  XVII.  THE  BEGINNINGS.  125 

anybody  travel  the  way  ?  —  Habit  is  our  primal,  fundamental 
law ;  Habit  and  Imitation,  there  is  nothing  more  perennial  in 
us  than  these  two.  They  are  the  source  of  all  Working  and 
all  Apprenticeship,  of  all  Practice  and  all  Learning,  in  this 
world. 

Yes,  the  wise  man  too  speaks,  and  acts,  in  Formulas ;  all  men 
do  so.  And  in  general,  the  more  completely  cased  with  For- 
mulas a  man  may  be,  the  safer,  happier  is  it  for  him.  Thou 
who,  in  an  All  of  rotten  Formulas,  seemest  to  stand  nigh  bare, 
having  indignantly  shaken  off  the  superannuated  rags  and  un- 
sound callosities  of  Formulas,  —  consider  how  thou  too  art  still 
clothed  !  This  English  Nationality,  whatsoever  from  uncounted 
ages  is  genuine  and  a  fact  among  thy  native  People,  in  their 
words  and  ways  :  all  this,  has  it  not  made  for  thee  a  skin  or 
second-skin,  adhesive  actually  as  thy  natural  skin  ?  This 
thou  hast  not  stript  off,  this  thou  wilt  never  strip  off :  the 
humor  that  thy  mother  gave  thee  has  to  show  itself  through 
this.  A  common,  or  it  may  be  an  uncommon  Englishman  thou 
art :  but,  good  Heavens,  what  sort  of  Arab,  Chinaman,  Jew- 
Clothesman,  Turk,  Hindoo,  African  Mandingo,  wouldst  thou 
have  been,  thou  with  those  mother-qualities  of  thine  ! 

It  strikes  me  dumb  to  look  over  the  long  series  of  faces, 
such  as  any  full  Church,  Court-house,  London-Tavern  Meeting, 
or  miscellany  of  men  will  show  them.  Some  score  or  two  of 
years  ago,  all  these  were  little  red-colored  pulpy  infants ;  each 
of  them  capable  of  being  kneaded,  baked  into  any  social  form 
you  chose :  yet  see  now  how  they  are  fixed  and  hardened,  — 
into  artisans,  artists,  clergy,  gentry,  learned  Serjeants,  unlearned 
dandies,  and  can  and  shall  now  be  nothing  else  henceforth  ! 

Mark  on  that  nose  the  color  left  by  too  copious  port  and 
viands  ;  to  which  the  profuse  cravat  with  exorbitant  breastpin, 
and  the  fixed,  forward,  and  as  it  were  menacing  glance  of  the 
eyes  correspond.  That  is  a  "  Man  of  Business  ;  "  prosperous 
manufacturer,  house-contractor,  engineer,  law-manager ;  his 
eye,  nose,  cravat  have,  in  such  work  and  fortune,  got  such  a 
character :  deny  him  npt  thy  praise,  thy  pity.  Pity  him  too, 
tho  Hard-handed,  with  l>ony  brow,  rudely  combed  hair,  eyes 
looking  out  as  in  labor,  in  difficulty  and  uncertainty ;  rude 


126  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  II. 

mouth,  the  lips  coarse,  loose,  as  in  hard  toil  and  lifelong  fatigue 
they  have  got  the  habit  of  hanging :  —  hast  thou  seen  aught 
more  touching  than  the  rude  intelligences,  so  cramped,  yet 
energetic,  unsubduable,  true,  which  looks  out  of  that  marred 
visage  ?  Alas,  and  his  poor  wife,  with  her  own  hands,  washed 
that  cotton  neck-cloth  for  him,  buttoned  that  coarse  shirt,  sent 
him  forth  creditably  trimmed  as  she  could.  In  such  imprison- 
ment lives  he,  for  his  part ;  man  cannot  now  deliver  him  :  the 
red  pulpy  infant  has  been  baked  and  fashioned  so. 

Or  what  kind  of  baking  was  it  that  this  other  brother  mortal 
got,  which  has  baked  him  into  the  genus  Dandy?  Elegant 
Vacuum ;  serenely  looking  down  iipon  all  Plenums  and  Entities 
as  low  and  poor  to  his  serene  Chimeraship  and  Nonentity  labo- 
riously attained  !  Heroic  Vacuum  ;  inexpugnable,  while  purse 
and  present  condition  of  society  hold  out  ;  curable  by  no 
'  hellebore.  The  doom  of  Fate  was,  Be  thou  a  Dandy  !  Have 
thy  eye-glasses,  opera-glasses,  thy  Long- Acre  cabs  with  white- 
breeched  tiger,  thy  yawning  impassivities,  pococurantisms ; 
fix  thyself  hi  Dandyhood,  undeliverable ;  it  is  thy  doom. 

And  all  these,  we  say,  were  red-colored  infants ;  of  the  same 
pulp  and  stuff,  few  years  ago ;  now  irretrievably  shaped  and 
kneaded  as  we  see  !  Formulas  ?  There  is  no  mortal  extant, 
out  of  the  depths  of  Bedlam,  but  lives  all  skinned,  thatched, 
covered  over  with  Formulas ;  and  is,  as  it  were,  held  in  from 
delirium  and  the  Inane  by  his  Formulas !  They  are  withal 
the  most  beneficent,  indispensable  of  human  equipments : 
blessed  he  who  has  a  skin  and  tissues,  so  it  be  a  living  one, 
and  the  heart-pulse  everywhere  discernible  through  it.  Mona- 
chism,  Feudalism,  with  a  real  King  Plantagenet,  with  real 
Abbots  Samson,  and  their  other  living  realities,  how  blessed  ! 

Not  without  a  mournful  interest  have  we  surveyed  that 
authentic  image  of  a  Time  now  wholly  swallowed.  Mournful 
reflections  crowd  on  us ;  —  and  yet  consolatory.  How  many 
brave  men  have  lived  before  Agamemnon !  Here  is  a  brave 
governor  Samson,  a  man  fearing  God,  and  fearing  nothing  else ; 
of  whom  as  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury,  as  King,  Chief  Editor, 
High  Priest,  we  could  be  so  glad  and  proud ;  of  whom  never- 
theless Fame  has  altogether  forgotten  to  make  mention  !  The 


CHAP.  XVII.  THE   BEGINNINGS.  127 

i'aint  image  of  him,  revived  in  this  hour,  is  found  in  the  gossip 
of  one  poor  Monk,  and  in  Nature  nowhere  else.  Oblivion  had 
so  nigli  swallowed  him  altogether,  even  to  the  echo  oi'  his  ever 
having  existed.  What  regiments  and  hosts  and  generations 
of  such  has  Oblivion  already  swallowed  !  Their  crumbled  dust 
makes  up  the  soil  our  life-fruit  grows  on.  Said  I  not,  as  my 
old  Norse  Fathers  taught  me,  The  Life-tree  Igdrasil,  which 
waves  round  thee  in  this  hour,  whereof  thou  in  this  hour  art 
portion,  has  its  roots  down  deep  in  the  oldest  Death-King- 
doms ;  and  grows ;  the  three  Nornas,  or  Times,  Past,  Present, 
Future,  watering  it  from  the  Sacred  Well ! 

For  example,  who  taught  thee  to  speak  ?  From  the  day  when 
two  hairy-naked  or  fig-leaved  Human  Figures  began,  as  uncom- 
fortable dummies,  anxious  no  longer  to  be  dumb,  but  to  impart 
themselves  to  one  another ;  and  endeavored,  with  gaspings,  ges- 
turings,  with  unsyllabled  cries,  with  painful  pantomime  and  in- 
terjections, in  a  very  unsuccessful  manner,  —  up  to  the  writing 
of  this  present  copyright  Book,  which  also  is  not  very  success- 
ful !  Between  that  day  and  this,  I  say,  there  has  been  a  pretty- 
space  of  time  ;  a  pretty  spell  of  work,  which  somebody  has  done  ! 
Thinkest  thou  there  were  no  poets  till  Dan  Chaucer  ?  No 
heart  burning  with  a  thought,  which  it  could  not  hold,  and  had 
no  word  for ;  and  needed  to  shape  and  coin  a  word  for,  —  what 
thou  callest  a  metaphor,  trope,  or  the  like  ?  For  every  word 
we  have,  there  was  such  a  man  and  poet.  The  coldest  word 
was  once  a  glowing  new  metaphor,  and  bold  questionable 
originality.  "  Thy  very  ATTENTION,  does  it  not  mean  an 
nttentio,  a  STRETCHING-TO  ?  "  Fancy  that  act  of  the  mind, 
which  all  were  conscious  of,  which  none  had  yet  named,  — 
when  this  new  "  poet "  first  felt  bound  and  driven  to  name  it ! 
His  questionable  originality,  and  new  glowing  metaphor,  was 
found  adoptable,  intelligible ;  and  remains  our  name  for  it  to 
this  day. 

Literature :  —  and  look  at  Paul's  Cathedral,  and  the  Ma- 
sonries and  Worships  and  Quasi-Worships  that  are  there ;  not 
to  speak  of  Westminster  Hall  and  its  wigs  !  Men  had  not  a 
hammer  to  begin  with,  not  a  syllabled  articulation:  they  had 
it  all  to  make ;  —  and  they  have  made  it.  \Vhat  thousand  thou- 


128  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  II. 

sand  articulate,  semi-articulate,  earnest-stammering  Prayers 
ascending  up  to  Heaven,  from  hut  and  cell,  in  many  lands,  in 
many  centuries,  from  the  fervent  kindled  souls  of  innumerable 
men,  each  struggling  to  pour  itself  forth  incompletely,  as  it 
might,  before  the  incompletest  Liturgy  could  be  compiled  ! 
The  Liturgy,  or  adoptable  and  generally  adopted  Set  of  Prayers 
and  Prayer-Method,  was  what  we  can  call  the  Select  Adopta- 
bilities, "  Select  Beauties  "  well  edited  (by  (Ecumenic  Councils 
and  other  Useful-Knowledge  Societies)  from  that  wide  waste 
imbroglio  of  Prayers  already  extant  and  accumulated,  good 
and  bad.  The  good  were  found  adoptable  by  men ;  were 
gradually  got  together,  well-edited,  accredited :  the  bad,  found 
inappropriate,  unadoptable,  were  gradually  forgotten,  disused 
and  burnt.  It  is  the  way  with  human  things.  The  first  man 
who,  looking  with  open  soul  on  this  august  Heaven  and  Earth, 
this  Beautiful  and  Awful,  which  we  name  Nature,  Universe 
and  such  like,  the  essence  of  which  remains  forever  UNNAM- 
ABLE;  he  who  first,  gazing  into  this,  fell  on  his  knees  awe- 
struck, in  silence  as  is  likeliest,  —  he,  driven  by  inner  necessity, 
the  "  audacious  original "  that  he  was,  had  done  a  thing,  too, 
which  all  thoughtful  hearts  saw  straightway  to  be  an  expres- 
sive, altogether  adoptable  thing !  To  bow  the  knee  was  ever 
since  the  attitude  of  supplication.  Earlier  than  any  spoken 
Prayers,  Litanias,  or  Leitourgias ;  the  beginning  of  all  Wor- 
ship, —  which  needed  but  a  beginning,  so  rational  was  it. 
What  a  poet  he  !  Yes,  this  bold  original  was  a  successful  one 
withal.  The  well-head  this  one,  hidden  in  the  primeval  dusks 
and  distances,  from  whom  as  from  a  Nile-source  all  Forms  of 
Worship  flow :  —  such  a  Nile-river  (somewhat  muddy  and 
malarious  now  !)  of  Forms  of  Worship  sprang  there,  and  flowed, 
and  flows,  down  to  Puseyisin,  Rotatory  Calabash,  Archbishop 
Laud  at  St.  Catherine  Creed's,  and  perhaps  lower ! 

Things  rise,  I  say,  in  that  way.  The  Iliad  Poem,  and 
indeed  most  other  poetic,  especially  epic  things,  have  risen 
as  the  Liturgy  did.  The  great  Iliad  in  Greece,  and  the  small 
Robin  Hood's  Garland  in.  England,  are  each,  as  I  understand, 
the  well-edited  "  Select  Beauties  "  of  an  immeasurable  waste 
imbroglio  of  Heroic  Ballads  in  their  respective  centuries  and 


THAI-.  XVII.  THE   BEGINNINGS.  129 

countries.  Think  what  strumming  of  the  seven-stringed  he- 
roic lyre,  torturing  of  the  less  heroic  fiddle-catgut,  in  Hellenic 
Kings'  Courts,  and  English  wayside  Public  Houses  ;  and  beat- 
ing of  the  studious  Poetic  brain,  and  gasping  here  too  in  the 
semi-articulate  windpipe  of  Poetic  men,  before  the  Wrath  of  a 
Divine  Achilles,  the  Prowess  of  a  Will  Scarlet  or  Wakefield 
Pindar,  could  be  adequately  sung  !  Honor  to  you,  ye  nameless 
great  and  greatest  ones,  ye  long-forgotten  brave  ! 

Nor  was  the  Statute  De  Tallagio  -non  concedendo,  nor  any 
Statute,  Law-method,  Lawyer's-wig,  much  less  were  the  Stat- 
ute-Book  and  Four  Courts,  with  Coke  upon  Lyttelton  and 
Three  Estates  of  Parliament  in  the  rear  of  them,  got  together 
without  human  labor,  —  mostly  forgotten  now  !  From  the 
time  of  Cain's  slaying  Abel  by  swift  head-breakage,  to  this 
time  of  killing  your  man  in  Chancery  by  inches,  and  slow 
heart-break  for  forty  years, — there  too  is  an  interval !  Ven- 
erable Justice  herself  began  by  Wild-Justice  ;  all  Law  is  as 
a  tamed  furrow-field,  slowly  worked  out,  and  rendered  arable, 
from  the  waste  jungle  of  Club-Law.  Valiant  Wisdom  tilling 
and  draining ;  escorted  by  owl-eyed  Pedantry,  by  owlish  and 
vulturish  and  many  other  forms  of  Folly  ;  —  the  valiant  Hus- 
bandman assiduously  tilling ;  the  blind  greedy  enemy  too 
assiduously  sowing  tares  !  It  is  because  there  is  yet  in  vener- 
able wigged  Justice  some  wisdom,  amid  such  mountains  of 
wiggeries  and  folly,  that  men  have  not  cast  her  into  the 
River ;  that  she  still  sits  there,  like  Dryden's  Head  in  the 
Battle  of  the  Books,  —  a  huge  helmet,  a  huge  mountain  of 
greased  parchment,  of  unclean  horse-hair,  first  striking  the 
eye ;  and  then  in  the  innermost  corner,  visible  at  last,  in  size 
as  a  hazelnut,  a  real  fraction  of  God's  Justice,  perhaps  not 
yet  unattainable  to  some,  surely  still  indispensable  to  all ;  — 
and  men  know  not  what  to  do  with  her  !  Lawyers  were  not 
all  pedants,  voluminous  voracious  persons ;  Lawyers  too  were 
poets,  were  heroes, — or  their  Law  had  been  past  the  Nore 
long  before  this  time.  Their  Owlisms,  Vulturisms,  to  an  in- 
credible extent,  will  disappear  by  and  by,  their  Heroisms  only 
remaining,  and  the  helmet  lie  reduced  to  something  like  the 
size  of  the  head,  we  hope  !  — 

VOL.  XII.  0 


130  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  II 

t 
It  is  all  work  and  forgotten  work,  this  peopled,  clothed. 

articulate-speaking,  high-towered,  wide-acred  World.  The 
hands  of  forgotten  brave  men,  have  made  it  a  World  for  us ; 
they,  —  honor  to  them ;  they,  in  spite  of  the  idle  and  the 
dastard.  This  English  Land,  here  and  now.  is  the  summary 
of  what  was  found  of  wise,  and  noble,  and  accordant  with 
God's  Truth,  in  all  the  generations  of  English  Men.  Our 
English  Speech  is  speakable  because  there  were  Hero-Poets 
of  our  blood  and  lineage  ;  speakable  in  proportion  to  the 
number  of  these.  This  Land  of  England  has  its  conquerors, 
possessors,  which  change  from  epoch  to  epoch,  from  day  to 
day ;  but  its  real  conquerors,  creators,  and  eternal  proprie- 
tors are  these  following,  and  their  representatives  if  you  can 
find  them :  All  the  Heroic  Souls  that  ever  were  in  England, 
each  in  their  degree ;  all  the  men  that  ever  cut  a  thistle, 
drained  a  puddle  out  of  England,  contrived  a  wise  scheme  in 
England,  did  or  said  a  true  and  valiant  thing  in  England.  I 
tell  thee,  they  had  not  a  hammer  to  begin  with;  and  yet 
Wren  built  St.  Paul's  :  not  an  articulated  syllable ;  and  yet 
there  have  come  English  Literatures,  Elizabethan  Literatures, 
Satanic-School,  Cockney-School,  and  other  Literatures  ;  —  once 
more,  as  in  the  old  time  of  the  Leitourgia,  a  most  waste  im- 
broglio, and  world-wide  jungle  and  jumble ;  waiting  terribly 
to  be  "  well-edited  "  and  "  well-burnt  "  !  Arachne  started  with 
forefinger  and  thumb,  and  had  not  even  a  distaff;  yet  thou 
seest  Manchester,  and  Cotton  Cloth,  which  will  shelter  naked 
backs,  at  twopence  an  ell. 

Work  ?  The  quantity  of  done  and  forgotten  work  that  lies 
silent  under  my  feet  in  this  world,  and  escorts  and  attends 
me,  and  supports  and  keeps  me  alive,  wheresoever  I  walk  or 
stand,  whatsoever  I  think  or  do,  gives  rise  to  reflections  !  Is 
,  it  not  enough,  at  any  rate,  to  strike  the  thing  called  "  Fame  " 
into  total  silence  for  a  wise  man  ?  For  fools  and  unreflective 
persons,  she  is  and  will  be  very  noisy,  this  "  Fame,"  and  talks 
of  her  "  immortals  "  and  so  forth :  but  if  you  will  consider  it, 
what  is  she  ?  Abbot  Samson  was  not  nothing  because  nobody 
said  anything  of  him.  Or  thinkest  thou,  the  Right  Honor- 
able Sir  Jabesh  Windbag  can  be  made  something  by  Parlia- 


CHAP.  XVII.  THE  BEGINNINGS.  131 

mentary  Majorities  and  Leading  Articles  ?  Her  "  immortals  "  ! 
Scarcely  two  hundred  years  back  can  Fame  recollect  articu- 
lately at  all ;  and  there  she  but  maunders  and  mumbles.  She 
manages  to  recollect  a  Shakspeare  or  so ;  and  prates,  consid- 
erably like  a  goose,  about  him ;  —  and  in  the  rear  of  that, 
onwards  to  the  birth  of  Theuth,  to  Heugst's  Invasion,  and  the 
bosom  of  Eternity,  it  was  all  blank ;  and  the  respectable 
Teutonic  Languages,  Teutonic  Practices,  Existences,  all  came 
of  their  own  accord,  as  the  grass  springs,  as  the  trees  grow ; 
no  Poet,  no  work  from  the  inspired  heart  of  a  Man  needed 
there ;  and  Fame  has  not  an  articulate  word  to  say  about  it ! 
Or  ask  her,  What,  with  all  conceivable  appliances  and  mne- 
monics, including  apotheosis  and  human  sacrifices  among  the 
number,  she  carries  in  her  head  with  regard  to  a  Wodan, 
even  a  Moses,  or  other  such  ?  She  begins  to  be  uncertain 
as  to  what  they  were,  whether  spirits  or  men  of  mould, — 
gods,  charlatans ;  begins  sometimes  to  have  a  misgiving  that 
they  were  mere  symbols,  ideas  of  the  mind ;  perhaps  non- 
entities and  Letters  of  the  Alphabet  !  She  is  the  noisiest, 
inarticulately  babbling,  hissing,  screaming,  foolishest,  unmu- 
sicalest  of  fowls  that  fly ;  and  needs  no  "  trumpet,"  I  think, 
but  her  own  enormous  goose-throat,  —  measuring  several 
degrees  of  celestial  latitude,  so  to  speak.  Her  "  wings,"  in 
these  days,  have  grown  far  swifter  than  ever ;  but  her  goose- 
throat  hitherto  seems  only  larger,  louder  and  foolisher  than 
ever.  She  is  transitory,  futile,  a  goose-goddess  :  —  if  she  were 
not  transitory,  what  would  become  of  us  !  It  is  a  chief  com- 
fort that  she  forgets  us  all ;  all,  even  to  the  very  Wodans ; 
and  grows  to  consider  us,  at  last,  as  probably  nonentities  and 
Letters  of  the  Alphabet. 

Yes,  a  noble  Abbot  Samson  resigns  himself  to  Oblivion 
too ;  feels  it  no  hardship,  but  a  comfort ;  counts  it  as  a  still 
resting-place,  from  much  sick  fret  and  fever  and  stupidity, 
which  in  the  night-watches  often  made  his  strong  heart  sigh. 
Your  most  sweet  voices,  making  one  enormous  goose-voice, 
O  Bobus  and  Company,  how  can  they  be  a  guidance  for  any 
Son  of  Adam  ?  In  silence  of  you  and  the  like  of  you,  the 
"  small  still  voices "  will  speak  to  him  better ;  in  which  does 
lie  guidance. 


132  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  n. 

My  friend,  all  speech  and  rumor  is  short-lived,  foolish,  un- 
true. Genuine  WORK  alone,  what  thou  workest  faithfully, 
that  is  eternal,  as  the  Almighty  Founder  and  World-Builder 
himself.  Stand  thou  by  that ;  and  let  "  Fame  "  and  the  rest 
of  it  go  prating. 

"  Heard  are  the  Voices, 
Heard  are  tiie  Sages, 
The  Worlds  and  the  Ages  : 
'  Choose  well ,  your  choice  is 
Brief  and  yet  endless. 

"  '  Here  eyes  do  regard  you, 
lu  Eternity's  stillness  ; 
Here  is  all  fulness, 
Ye  brave,  to  reward  you ; 
Work,  and  despair  not.' " 

GOETHB. 


BOOK    III. 

THE  MODERN   WORKER 


CHAPTER  I. 

PHENOMENA. 

BUT,  it  is  said,  our  religion  is  gone :  we  no  longer  believe 
in  St.  Edmund,  no  longer  see  the  figure  of  him  "  on  the  rim 
of  the  sky,"  minatory  or  confirmatory  !  God's  absolute  Laws, 
sanctioned  by  an  eternal  Heaven  and  an  eternal  Hell,  have 
become  Moral  Philosophies,  sanctioned  by  able  computations 
of  Profit  and  Loss,  by  weak  considerations  of  Pleasures  of 
Virtue  and  the  Moral  Sublime. 

It  is  even  so.  To  speak  in  the  ancient  dialect,  we  "  have 
forgotten  God ;  "  —  in  the  most  modern  dialect  and  very  truth 
of  the  matter,  we  have  taken  up  the  Fact  of  this  Universe  as 
it  w  not.  We  have  quietly  closed  our  eyes  to  the  eternal  Sub- 
stance of  things,  and  opened  them  only  to  the  Shows  ;md 
Shams  of  things.  We  quietly  believe  this  Universe  to  be 
intrinsically  a  great  unintelligible  PERHAPS  ;  extrinsic-ally, 
clear  enough,  it  is  a  great,  most  extensive  Cattle-fold  and 
Workhouse,  with  most  extensive  Kitchen-ranges,  Dining- 
tables,  —  whereat  he  is  wise  who  can  find  a  place  !  All  the 
Truth  of  this  Universe  is  uncertain ;  only  the  profit  and  loss 
of  it,  the  pudding  and  praise  of  it,  are  and  remain  very  visi- 
ble to  the  practical  man. 

There  is  no  longer  any  God  for  ns  !  God's  Laws  are  be- 
come a  Greatest-Happiness  Principle,  a  Parliamentary  Expe- 
diency :  the  Heavens  overarch  us  only  as  an  Astronomical 


134  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  III. 

Time-keeper;  a  butt  for  Herschel-telescopes  to  shoot  science 
at,  to  shoot  sentimentalities  at :  —  in  our  and  old  Jonson's 
dialect,  man  has  lost  the  soul  out  of  him ;  and  now,  after  the 
due  period,  —  begins  to  find  the  want  of  it !  This  is  verily 
the  plague-spot ;  centre  of  the  universal  Social  Gangrene, 
threatening  all  modern  things  with  frightful  death.  To  him 
that  will  consider  it,  here  is  the  stem,  with  its  roots  and 
tap-root,  with  its  world-wide  upas-boughs  and  accursed  poison- 
exudations,  under  which  the  world  lies  writhing  in  atrophy 
and  agony.  You  touch  the  focal-centre  of  all  our  disease, 
of  our  frightful  nosology  of  diseases,  when  you  lay  your  hand 
on  this.  There  is  no  religion ;  there  is  no  God ;  man  has 
lost  his  soul,  and  vainly  seeks  antiseptic  salt.  Vainly :  in 
killing  Kings,  in  passing  Reform  Bills,  in  French  Revolutions, 
Manchester  Insurrections,  is  found  no  remedy.  The  foul  ele- 
phantine leprosy,  alleviated  for  an  hour,  reappears  in  new 
force  and  desperateness  next  hour. 

For  actually  this  is  not  the  real  fact  of  the  world ;  the 
world  is  not  made  so,  but  otherwise !  —  Truly,  any  Society 
setting  out  from  this  No-God  hypothesis  will  arrive  at  a  result 
or  two.  The  ?7/iveracities,  escorted,  each  Uuveracity  of  them 
by  its  corresponding  Misery  and  Penalty ;  the  Phantasms  and 
Fatuities,  and  ten-years  Corn-Law  Debatings,  that  shall  walk 
the  Earth  at  noonday,  —  must  needs  be  numerous  !  The 
Universe  being  intrinsically  a  Perhaps,  being  too  probably  an  / 
"  infinite  Humbug,"  why  should  any  minor  Humbug  astonish 
us  ?  It  is  all  according  to  the  order  of  Nature  ;  and  Phan- 
tasms riding  with  huge  clatter  along  the  streets,  from  end  to 
end  of  our  existence,  astonish  nobody.  Enchanted  St.  Ives' 
Workhouses  and  Joe-Manton  Aristocracies ;  giant  Working 
Mammonism  near  strangled  in  the  partridge-nets  of  giant- 
looking  Idle  Dilettantism,  —  this,  in  all  its  branches,  in  its 
thousand-thousand  modes  and  figures,  is  a  sight  familiar 
to  us. 

The  Popish  Religion,  we  are  told,  flourishes  extremely  in 
these  years ;  and  is  the  most  vivacious-looking  religion  to  be 
met  with  at  present.  •''  Elle  a  trois  cents  ans  dans  le  venire," 


CHAP.  I.  PHENOMENA  135 

counts  M.  Jouffroy ;  "  c'est  pouryuoi  je  la  respecte  !  "  —  The 
old  Pope  of  Rome,  finding  it  laborious  to  kneel  so  long  while 
they  cart  him  through  the  streets  to  bless  the  people  on 
Corpus-Christi  Day,  complains  of  rheumatism  ;  whereupon  his 
Cardinals  consult ;  construct  him,  after  some  study,  a  stuffed 
cloaked  figure,  of  iron  and  wood,  with  wool  or  baked  hair; 
and  place  it  in  a  kneeling  posture.  Stuffed  figure,  or  rump  of 
a  figure ;  to  this  stuffed  rump  he.  sitting  at  his  ease  on  a  lower 
level,  joins,  by  the  aid  of  cloaks  and  drapery,  his  living  head 
and  outspread  hands :  the  rump  with  its  cloaks  kneels,  the 
Pope  looks,  and  holds  his  hands  spread;  and  so  the  two  in 
concert  bless  the  lioman  population  on  Corpus- Christi  Day,  as 
well  as  they  can. 

I  have  considered  this  amphibious  Pope,  with  the  wool-and- 
iron back,  with  the  flesh  head  and  hands  ;  and  endeavored 
to  calculate  his  horoscope.  I  reckon  him  the  remarkablest 
Pontiff  that  has  darkened  God's  daylight,  or  painted  himself 
in  the  human  retina,  for  these  several  thousand  years.  Nay, 
since  Chaos  first  shivered,  and  "  sneezed,"  as  the  Arabs  say, 
with  the  first  shaft  of  sunlight  shot  through  it,  what  stranger 
product  was  there  of  Nature  and  Art  working  together  ? 
Here  is  a  Supreme  Priest  who  believes  God  to  be  —  What,  in 
the  name  of  God,  does  he  believe  God  to  be  ?  —  and  discerns 
that  all  worship  of  God  is  a  scenic  phantasmagory  of  wax- 
candles,  organ-blasts,  Gregorian  chants,  mass-bray  ings,  purple 
monsignorij  wool-and-iron  rumps,  artistically  spread  out,  —  to 
save  the  ignorant  from  worse. 

0  reader,  I  say  not  who  are  Belial's  elect.  This  poor  am- 
phibious Pope  too  gives  loaves  to  the  Poor ;  has  in  him  more 
good  latent  than  he  is  himself  aware  of.  His  poor  Jesuits, 
in  the  late  Italian  Cholera,  were,  with  a  few  German  Doctors, 
the  only  creatures  whom  dastard  terror  had  not  driven  mad  : 
they  descended  fearless  into  all  gulfs  and  bedlams  ;  watched 
over  the  pillow  of  the  dying,  with  help,  with  counsel  and 
hope;  shone  as  luminous  fixed  stars,  when  all  else  had  gone 
out  in  chaotic  night :  honor  to  them  !  This  poor  Pope,  —  who 
knows  what  good  is  in  him  ?  In  n.  Time  otherwise  too  prone 
to  forget,  he  keeps  up  the  mournfulest  ghastly  memorial  of 


136  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  in. 

the  Highest,  Blessedest,  which  once  was  ;  which,  in  new  fit 
forms,  will  again  partly  have  to  be.  Is  he  not  as  a  perpetual 
death's-head  and  cross-bones,  with  their  Resurgam,  on  the 
grave  of  a  Universal  Heroism, — grave  of  a  Christianity? 
Such  Noblenesses,  purchased  by  the  world's  best  heart's-blood, 
must  not  be  lost ;  we  cannot  afford  to  lose  them,  in  what  con- 
fusions soever.  To  all  of  us  the  day  will  come,  to  a  few  of  us 
it  has  already  come,  when  no  mortal,  with  his  heart  yearning 
for  a  "  Divine  Humility,"  or  other  "  Highest  form  of  Valor," 
will  need  to  look  for  it  in.  death's-heads,  but  will  see  it  round 
him  in  here  and  there  a  beautiful  living  head. 

Besides,  there  is  in  this  poor  Pope,  and  his  practice  of  the 
Scenic  Theory  of  Worship,  a  frankness  which  I  rather  honor. 
Not  half  and  half,  but  Avith  undivided  heart  does  he  set  about 
worshipping  by  stage-machinery  ;  as  if  there  were  now,  and 
could  again  be,  in  Nature  no  other.  He  will  ask  you,  What 
other  ?  Under  this  my  Gregorian  Chant,  and  beautiful  wax- 
light  Phantasm agory,  kindly  hidden  from  you  is  an  Abyss, 
of  Black  Doubt,  Scepticism,  nay  Sansculottic  Jacobinism ;  an 
Orcus  that  has  no  bottom.  Think  of  that.  ••  Groby  Pool  is 
thatched  with  pancakes,"  —  as  Jeannie  Deans's  Innkeeper 
defied  it  to  be !  The  Bottomless  of  Scepticism,  Atheism, 
Jacobinism,  behold,  it  is  thatched  over,  hidden  from  your  de- 
spair, by  stage-properties  judiciously  arranged.  This  stuffed 
rump  of  mine  saves  not  me  only  from  rheumatism,  but  you 
also  from  what  other  isms!  In  this  your  Life-pilgrimage 
No-\vhither,  a  fine  Squallacci  marching-music,  and  Gregorian 
Chant,  accompanies  you,  and  the  hollow  Night  of  Orcus  is 
well  hid  ! 

Yes  truly,  few  men  that  worship  by  the  rotatory  Calabash 
of  the  Calmucks  do  it  in  half  so  great,  frank  or  effectual  a 
way.  Drury-Lane,  it  is  said,  and  that  is  saying  much,  might 
learn  from  him  in  the  dressing  of  parts,  in  the  arrangement 
of  lights  and  shadows.  He  is  the  greatest  Play-actor  that 
at  present  draws  salary  in  this  world.  Poor  Pope ;  and  I  am 
told  he  is  fast  growing  bankrupt  too ;  and  will,  in  a  measura- 
ble term  of  years  (a  great  way  within  the  "three  hundred"), 
not  have  a  penny  to  make  his  pot  boil !  His  old  rheumatic 


CHAP.  I.  PHENOMENA.  137 

back  will  then  get  to  rest ;  and  himself  and  his  stage-proper- 
ties sleep  well  in  Chaos  forevermore. 

Or,  alas,  why  go  to  Rome  for  Phantasms  walking  the 
streets  ?  Phantasms,  ghosts,  in  this  midnight  hour,  hold  jubi- 
lee, and  screech  and  jabber;  and  the  question  rather  were, 
What  high  Reality  anywhere  is  yet  awake  ?  Aristocracy  has 
Income  Phantasm-Aristocracy,  no  longer  able  to  do  its  work, 
not  in  the  least  conscious  that  it  has  any  work  longer  to  do. 
Unable,  totally  careless  to  do  its  work ;  careful  only  to  clamor 
for  the  wayes  of  doing  its  work,  — nay  for  higher,  and  palpably 
undue  wages,  and  Corn-Laws  and  increase  of  rents  ;  the  old 
rate  of  wages  not  being  adequate  now  !  In  hydra-wrestle, 
giant  "  Millocrsicy  "  so  called,  a  real  giant,  though  as  yet  a 
blind  one  and  but  half  awake,  wrestles  and  wrings  in  choking 
nightmare,  "  like  to  be  strangled  in  the  partridge-nets  of  Phan- 
tasm-Aristocracy," as  we  said,  which  fancies  itself  still  to  be  a 
giant.  Wrestles,  as  under  nightmare,  till  it  do  awaken  ;  and 
gasps  and  struggles  thousand-fold,  we  may  say,  in  a  truly  pain- 
ful manner,  through  all  fibres  of  our  English  Existence,  in 
these  hours  and  years !  Is  our  poor  English  Existence  wholly 
becoming  a  Nightmare  ;  full  of  mere  Phantasms  ?  — 

The  Champion  of  England,  cased  in  iron  or  tin,  rides  into 
Westminster  Hall,  "  being  lifted  into  his  saddle  with  little 
assistance,"  and  there  asks,  If  in  the  four  quarters  of  the 
world,  under  the  cope  of  Heaven,  is  any  man  or  demon  that 
dare  question  the  right  of  this  King  ?  Under  the  cope  of 
Heaven  no  man  makes  intelligible  answer,  —  as  several  men 
ought  already  to  have  done.  Does  not  this 'Champion  too 
know  the  world ;  that  it  is  a  huge  Imposture,  and  bottomless 
Inanity,  thatched  over  with  bright  cloth  and  other  ingenious 
tissues  ?  Him  let  us  leave  there,  questioning  all  men  and 
demons. 

Him  we  have  left  to  his  destiny  ;  but  whom  else  have  we 
found  ?  From  this  the  highest  apex  of  things,  downwards 
through  all  strata  and  breadths,  how  many  fully  awakened 
Realities  have  we  fallen  in  with  :  —  alas,  on  the  contrary, 
what  troops  and  populations  of  Phantasms,  not  God-Veracities 


138  PAST   AND    PRESENT.  BOOK  III. 

but  Devil-Falsities,  down  to  the  very  lowest  stratum,  —  which 
now,  by  such  superincumbent  weight  of  Unveracities,  lies 
enchanted  in  St.  Ives'  Workhouses,  broad  enough,  helpless 
enough !  You  will  walk  in  no  public  thoroughfare  or  remotest 
byway  of  English  Existence  but  you  will  meet  a  man,  an  in- 
terest of  men,  that  has  given  up  hope  in  the  Everlasting,  True, 
and  placed  its  hope  in  the  Temporary,  half  or  wholly  False. 
The  Honorable  Member  complains  unmusically  that  there  is 
"  devil's-dust  "  in  Yorkshire  cloth.  Yorkshire  cloth, — why, 
the  very  Paper  I  now  write  on  is  made,  it  seems,  partly  of 
plaster-lime  well  smoothed,  and  obstructs  my  writing!  You 
are  lucky  if  you  can  find  now  any  good  Paper,  —  any  work 
really  done;  search  where  you  will,  from  highest  Phantasm 
apex  to  lowest  Enchanted  basis. 

Consider,  for  example,  that  great  Hat  seven-feet  high,  which 
now  perambulates  London  Streets :  which  my  Friend  Sauerteig 
regarded  justly  as  one  of  our  English  notabilities ;  "  the  top- 
most point  as  yet,"  said  he,  "would  it  were  your  culminating 
and  returning  point,  to  which  English  Puffery  has  been  ob- 
served to  reach!"  —  The  Hatter  in  the  Strand  of  London, 
instead  of  making  better  felt-hats  than  another,  mounts  a  huge 
lath-and-plaster  Hat,  seven  feet  high,  upon  wheels ;  sends  a 
man  to  drive  it  through  the  streets ;  hoping  to  be  saved  thereby. 
He  has  not  attempted  to  make  better  hats,  as  he  was  appointed 
by  the  Universe  to  do,  and  as  with  this  ingenuity  of  his  he 
could  very  probably  have  done ;  but  his  whole  industry  is 
turned  to  persuade  us  that  he  has  made  such !  He  too  knows 
that  the  Quack  has  become  God.  Laugh  not  at  him,  0  reader ; 
or  do  not  laugh  only.  He  has  ceased  to  be  comic ;  he  is  fast 
becoming  tragic.  To  me  this  all-deafening  blast  of  Puffery, 
of  poor  Falsehood  grown  necessitous,  of  poor  Heart- A  theism 
fallen  now  into  Enchanted  Workhouses,  sounds  too  surely  like 
a  Doom's-blast !  I  have  to  say  to  myself  in  old  dialect : 
"God's  blessing  is  not  written  on  all  this;  His  curse  is  written 
on  all  this!"  Unless  perhaps  the  Universe  be  a  chimera  ;  — 
some  old  totally  deranged  eight-day  clock,  dead  as  brass ;  which 
the  Maker,  if  there  ever  was  any  Maker,  has  long  ceased  to 
meddle  with?  —  To  my  Friend  Sauerteig  this  poor  seven-feet 


CHAP.  I.  PHENOMENA.  139 

Hat-manufacturer,  as  the  topstone  of  English  Puffery,  was 
very  notable. 

Alas,  that  we  natives  note  him  little,  that  we  view  him  as  a 
thing  of  course,  is  the  very  burden  of  the  misery.  We  take  it 
for  granted,  the  most  rigorous  of  us,  that  all  men  who  have 
made  anything  are  expected  and  entitled  to  make  the  loudest 
possible  proclamation  of  it,  and  call  on  a  discerning  public  to 
reward  them  for  it.  Every  man  his  own  trumpeter ;  that  is, 
to  a  really  alarming  extent,  the  accepted  rule.  Make  loudest 
possible  proclamation  of  your  Hat :  true  proclamation  if  that 
will  do ;  if  that  will  not  do,  then  false  proclamation,  —  to  such 
extent  of  falsity  as  will  serve  your  purpose ;  as  will  not  seem 
too  false  to  be  credible  !  —  I  answer,  once  for  all,  that  the  fact 
is  not  so.  Nature  requires  no  man  to  make  proclamation  of 
his  doings  and  hat-makings ;  Nature  forbids  all  men  to  make 
such.  There  is  not  a  man  or  hat-maker  born  into  the  world 
but  feels,  or  has  felt,  that  he  is  degrading  himself  if  he  speak 
of  his  excellencies  and  prowesses,  and  supremacy  in  his  craft : 
his  inmost  heart  says  to  him,  "  Leave  thy  friends  to  speak  of 
these;  if  possible,  thy  enemies  to  speak  of  these;  but  at  all 
events,  thy  friends ! "  He  feels  that  he  is  already  a  poor 
braggart ;  fast  hastening  to  be  a  falsity  and  speaker  of  the 
Untruth. 

Nature's  Laws,  I  must  repeat,  are  eternal :  her  small  still 
Iroice,  speaking  from  the  inmost  heart  of  us,  shall  not,  under 
terrible  penalties,  be  disregarded.  No  one  man  can  depart 
from  the  truth  without  damage  to  himself;  no  one  million  of 
men ;  no  Twenty -seven  Millions  of  men.  Show  me  a  Nation 
fallen  everywhere  into  this  course,  so  that  each  expects  it, 
permits  it  to  others  and  himself,  I  will  show  you  a  Nation 
travelling  with  one  assent  on  the  broad  way.  The  broad  way. 
however  many  Banks  of  England,  Cotton-Mills  and  Duke's 
Palaces  it  may  have.  Not  at  happy  Elysian  fields,  and  ever- 
lasting crowns  of  victory,  earned  by  silent  Valor,  will  this 
Nation  arrive ;  but  at  precipices,  devouring  gulfs,  if  it  pause 
not.  Nature  has  appointed  happy  fields,  victorious  laurel- 
crowns  ;  but  only  to  the  brave  and  true :  T/wnature,  what  we 
Chaos,  holds  nothing  in  it  but  vacuities,  devouring  gulfs. 


140  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  III. 

What  are  Twenty-seven  Millions,  and  their  unanimity  ?  Be- 
lieve them  not:  the  Worlds  and  the  Ages,  God  and  Nature 
and  All  Men  say  otherwise. 

"  Rhetoric  all  this  ?  "  No,  my  brother,  very  singular  to  say, 
it  is  Fact  all  this.  Cocker's  Arithmetic  is  not  truer.  Forgot- 
ten in  these  days,  it  is  old  as  the  foundations  of  the  Universe, 
and  will  endure  till  the  Universe  cease.  It  is  forgotten  now ; 
and  the  first  mention  of  it  puckers  thy  sweet  countenance  into 
a  sneer :  but  it  will  be  brought  to  mind  again,  —  unless  indeed 
the  Law  of  Gravitation  chance  to  cease,  and  men  rind  that 
they  can  walk  on  vacancy.  Unanimity  of  the  Twenty-seven 
Millions  will  do  nothing ;  walk  not  thou  with  them  ;  fly  from 
them  as  for  thy  life.  Twenty-seven  Millions  travelling  on 
such  courses,  with  gold  jingling  in  every  pocket,  with  vivats 
heaven-high,  are  incessantly  advancing,  let  me  again  remind 
thee,  towards  the  firm-land's  end,  —  towards  the  end  and  ex- 
tinction of  what  Faithfulness,  Veracity,  real  Worth,  was  in 
their  way  of  life.  Their  noble  ancestors  have  fashioned  for 
them  a  " life-road;"  —  in  how  many  thousand  senses,  this! 
There  is  not  an  old  wise  Proverb  on  their  tongue,  an  honest 
Principle  articulated  in  their  hearts  into  utterance,  a  wise  true 
method  of  doing  and  despatching  any  work  or  commerce  of 
men,  but  helps  yet  to  carry  them  forward.  Life  is  still  pos- 
sible to  them,  because  all  is  not  yet  Puffery,  Falsity,  Mammon- 
worship  and  Unnature ;  because  somewhat  is  yet  Faithfulness, 
Veracity  and  Valor.  With  a  certain  very  considerable  finite 
quantity  of  Unveracity  and  Phantasm,  social  life  is  still  pos- 
sible ;  not  with  an  infinite  quantity !  Exceed  your  certain 
quantity,  the  seven-feet  Hat,  and  all  things  upwards  to  the 
very  Champion  cased  in  tin,  begin  to  reel  and  flounder,  —  in 
Manchester  Insurrections,  Chartisms,  Sliding-scales ;  the  Law 
of  Gravitation  not  forgetting  to  act.  You  advance  incessantly 
towards  the  land's  end;  you  are,  literally  enough,  '"consuming 
the  way."  Step  after  step,  Twenty-seven  Million  unconscious 
men ;  —  till  you  are  at  the  land's  end ;  till  there  is  not  Faith- 
fulness enough  among  you  any  more :  and  the  next  step  now 
is  lifted  not  over  land,  but  into  air,  over  ocean-deeps  and  roar- 
ing abysses :  —  unless  perhaps  the  Law  of  Gravitation  have 
forgotten  to  act? 


CHAP.  II.  GOSPEL  OF  MAMMONISM.  141 

Oh,  it  is  frightful  when  a  whole  Nation,  as  our  Fathers  used 
to  say,  has  "  forgotten  God ; "  has  remembered  only  Mammon, 
and  what  Mammon  leads  to  !  When  your  self-trumpeting 
Hat-maker  is  the  emblem  of  almost  all  makers,  and  workers, 
and  men,  that  make  anything,  —  from  soul-overseerships,  body- 
overseerships,  epic  poems,  acts  of  parliament,  to  hats  ani1 
shoe-blacking !  Not  one  false  man  but  does  uncountable  mis 
chief:  how  much,  in  a  generation  or  two,  will  Twenty -seven 
Millions,  mostly  false,  manage  to  accumulate?  The  sum  of  it, 
visible  in  every  street,  market-place,  senate-house,  circulating- 
library,  cathedral,  cotton-mill,  and  union-workhouse,  fills  one 
not  with  a  comic  feeling ! 


CHAPTER  II. 

GOSPEL    OF    MAMMONISM. 

READER,  even  Christian  Reader  as  thy  title  goes,  hast  thou 
any  notion  of  Heaven  and  Hell  ?  I  rather  apprehend,  not. 
Often  as  the  words  are  on  our  tongue,  they  have  got  a  fabu- 
lous or  semi-fabulous  character  for  most  of  us,  and  pass  on 
like  a  kind  of  transient  similitude,  like  a  sound  signifying 
little. 

Yet  it  is  well  worth  while  for  us  to  know,  once  and  always, 
that  they  are  not  a  similitude,  nor  a  fable  nor  semi-fable ;  that 
they  are  an  everlasting  highest  fact !  "  No  Lake  of  Sicilian 
or  other  sulphur  burns  now  anywhere  in  these  ages,"  sayest 
thou  ?  Well,  and  if  there  did  not !  Believe  that  there  does 
not ;  believe  it  if  thou  wilt,  nay  hold  by  it  as  a  real  increase, 
a  rise  to  higher  stages,  to  wider  horizons  and  empires.  All 
this  has  vanished,  or  has  not  vanished  ;  believe  as  thou  wilt 
as  to  all  this.  But  that  an  Infinite  of  Practical  Importance, 
speaking  with  strict  arithmetical  exactness,  an  Infinite,  lias 
vanished  or  can  vanish  from  the  Life  of  any  Man :  this  thou 
shalt  not  believe !  0  brother,  the  Infinite  of  Terror,  of  Hope, 


14'2  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  Hi. 

of  Pity,  did  it  not  at  any  moment  disclose  itself  to  thee, 
indxibitable,  unnamable  ?  Came  it  never,  like  the  gleam  of 
preternatural  eternal  Oceans,  like  the  voice  of  old  Eternities, 
far-sounding  through  thy  heart  of  hearts  ?  Never  ?  Alas,  it 
was  not  thy  Liberalism,  then ;  it  was  thy  Animalism  !  The 
Infinite  is  more  sure  than  any  other  fact.  But  only  men  can 
discern  it;  mere  building  beavers,  spinning  arachnes,  much 
more  the  predatory  vulturous  and  vulpine  species,  do  not  dis- 
cern it  well !  — 

"  The  word  Hell,"  says  Sauerteig,  "  is  still  frequently  in 
use  among  the  English  people  :  but  I  could  not  without  diffi- 
culty ascertain  what  they  meant  by  it.  Hell  generally  signi- 
fies the  Infinite  Terror,  the  thing  a  man  is  infinitely  afraid  of, 
and  shudders  and  shrinks  from,  struggling  with  his  whole  soul 
to  escape  from  it.  There  is  a  Hell  therefore,  if  you  will  con- 
sider, which  accompanies  man,  in  all  stages  of  his  history,  and 
religious  or  other  development :  but  the  Hells  of  men  and 
Peoples  differ  notably.  With  Christians  it  is  the  infinite  ter- 
ror of  being  found  guilty  before  the  Just  Judge.  With  old 
Romans,  I  conjecture,  it  was  the  terror  not  of  Pluto,  for  whom 
probably  they  cared  little,  but  of  doing  unworthily,  doing  un- 
virtuously,  which  was  their  word  for  unlawfully.  And  now 
what  is  it,  if  you  pierce  through  his  Cants,  his  oft-repeated 
Hearsays,  what  he  calls  his  Worships  and  so  forth,  —  what  is 
it  that  the  modern  English  soul  does,  in  very  truth,  dread  in- 
finitely, and  contemplate  with  entire  despair  ?  What  is  his 
Hell,  after  all  these  reputable,  oft-repeated  Hearsays,  what  is 
it  ?  With  hesitation,  with  astonishment,  I  pronounce  it  to  be  : 
The  terror  of  'Not  succeeding;'  of  not  making  money,  fame, 
or  some  other  figure  in  the  world,  —  chiefly  of  not  making 
money !  Is  not  that  a  somewhat  singular  Hell  ?  " 

Yes,  0  Sauerteig,  it  is  very  singular.  If  we  do  not  "  suc- 
ceed," where  is  the  use  of  us  ?  We  had  better  never  have  been 
born.  "  Tremble  intensely,"  as  our  friend  the  Emperor  of 
China  says :  there  is  the  black  Bottomless  of  Terror ;  what 
Sauerteig  calls  the  "  Hell  of  the  English  "  !  —  But  indeed  this 
Hell  belongs  naturally  to  the  Gospel  of  Mammonism,  which 
also  has  its  corresponding  Heaven.  For  there  is  one  Reality 


CHAT.  Ii.  GOSPEL   OF    MAMMONISH.  143 

among  so  many  Phantasms ;  about  one  thing  we  are  entirely 
in  earnest :  The  making  of  money.  Working  Mammonism 
does  divide  the  world  with  idle  game-preserving  Dilettantism  : 
—  thank  Heaven  that  there  is  even  a  Mammonism,  anything 
we  are  in  earnest  about !  Idleness  is  worst,  Idleness  alone  is 
without  hope:  work  earnestly  at  anything,  you  will  by  degrees 
learn  to  work  at  almost  all  things.  There  is  endless  hope  in 
work,  were  it  even  work  at  making  money. 

True,  it  must  be  owned,  we  for  the  present,  with  our  Mam- 
mon-Gospel, have  come  to  strange  conclusions.  We  call  it  a 
Society ;  and  go  about  professing  openly  the  totalest  separa- 
tion, isolation.  Our  life,  is  not  a  mutual  helpfulness ;  but 
rather,  cloaked  under  due  laws-of-war,  named  "fair  competi- 
tion "  and  so  forth,  it  is  a  mutual  hostility.  We  have  profoundly 
forgotten  everywhere  that  Cash-payment  is  not  the  sole  rela- 
tion of  human  beings ;  we  think,  nothing  doubting,  that  it 
absolves  and  liquidates  all  engagements  of  man.  "  My  starv- 
ing workers  ?  "  answers  the  rich  mill-owner  :  "  Did  not  I  hire 
them  fairly  in  the  market  ?  Did  I  not  pay  them,  to  the  last 
sixpence,  the  sum  covenanted  for  ?  What  have  I  to  do  with 
them  more?"  —  Verily  Mammon-worship  is  a  melancholy 
creed.  When  Cain,  for  his  own  behoof,  had  killed  Abel,  and 
was  questioned,  "  Where  is  thy  brother  ?  "  he  too  made  an- 
swer, "  Am  I  my  brother's  keeper  ?  "  Did  I  not  pay  my  brother 
his  wages,  the  thing  he  had  merited  from  me  ? 

0  sumptuous  Merchant-Prince,  illustrious  game-preserving 
Duke,  is  there  no  way  of  "  killing  "  thy  brother  but  Cain's 
rude  way !  "  A  good  man  by  the  very  look  of  him,  by  his 
very  presence  with  us  as  a  fellow  wayfarer  in  this  Life- 
pilgrimage,  promises  so  much  : "  woe  to  him  if  he  forget  all 
such  promises,  if  he  never  know  that  they  were  given !  To  a 
deadened  soul,  seared  with  the  brute  Idolatry  of  Sense,  to 
whom  going  to  Hell  is  equivalent  to  not  making  money,  all 
"promises,"  and  moral  duties,  that  cannot  be  pleaded  for  in 
Courts  of  Requests,  address  themselves  in  vain.  Money  he 
can  be  ordered  to  pay,  but  nothing  more.  I  have  not  heard 
in  all  Past  History,  and  expect  not  to  hear  in  all  Future  His- 
tory, of  any  Society  anywhere  under  God's  Heaven  supporting 


144  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  III. 

itself  on  such  Philosophy.  The  Universe  is  not  made  so ;  it 
is  made  otherwise  than  so.  The  man  or  nation  of  men  that 
thinks  it  is  made  so,  marches  forward  nothing  doubting,  step 
after  step ;  but  marches  —  whither  we  know !  In  these  last 
two  centuries  of  Atheistic  Government  (near  two  centuries 
now,  since  the  blessed  restoration  of  his  Sacred  Majesty,  and 
Defender  of  the  Faith,  Charles  Second),  I  reckon  that  we 
have  pretty  well  exhausted  what  of  "  firm  earth  "  there  was 
for  us  to  march  on ;  —  and  are  now,  very  ominously,  shudder- 
ing, reeling,  and  let  us  hope  trying  to  recoil,  on  the  cliff's 
edge ! — 

For  out  of  this  that  Ave  call  Atheism  come  so  many  other 
isms  and  falsities,  each  falsity  with  its  misery  at  its  heels  !  — 
A  SOUL  is  not  like  wind  (spiritus,  or  breath)  contained  within 
a  capsule  ;  the  ALMIGHTY  MAKER  is  not  like  a  Clock-maker 
that  once,  in  old  immemorial  ages,  having  made  his  Horologe 
of  a  Universe,  sits  ever  since  and  sees  it  go !  Xot  at  all. 
Hence  comes  Atheism ;  come,  as  we  say,  many  other  isms  ;  and 
as  the  sum  of  all,  comes  Valetism,  the  reverse  of  Heroism ;  sad 
root  of  all  woes  whatsoever.  For  indeed,  as  no  man  ever  saw 
the  above-said  wind-element  enclosed  within  its  capsule,  and 
finds  it  at  bottom  more  deniable  than  conceivable ;  so  too  he 
finds,  in  spite  of  Bridgewater  Bequests,  your  Clock-maker  Al- 
mighty an  entirely  questionable  affair,  a  deniable  affair  ;  —  and 
accordingly  denies  it,  and  along  with  it  so  much  else.  Alas, 
one  knows  not  what  and  how  much  else !  For  the  faith  in  an 
Invisible,  Unnamable,  Godlike,  present  everywhere  in  all  that 
we  see  and  work  and  suffer,  is  the  essence  of  all  faith  whatso- 
ever ;  and  that  once  denied,  or  still  worse,  asserted  with  lips 
only,  and  out  of  bound  prayer-books  only,  what  other  thing  re- 
mains believable  ?  That  Cant  well-ordered  is  marketable  Cant ; 
that  Heroism  means  gas-lighted  Histrionism  ;  that  seen  with 
"  clear  eyes  "  (as  they  call  Valet-eyes),  no  man  is  a  Hero,  or  ever 
was  a  Hero,  but  all  men  are  Valets  and  Varlets.  The  accursed 
practical  quintessence  of  all  sorts  of  Unbelief !  For  if  there  be 
now  no  Hero,  and  the  Histrio  himself  begin  to  be  seen  into, 
what  hope  is  there  for  the  seed  of  Adam  here  below  ?  We 
arc  the  doomed  everlasting  prey  of  the  Quack ;  who,  now  in 


CHAI-.  ii.  GOSPEL  OF  MAMMONISH.  145 

this  guise,  now  in  that,  is  to  filch  us,  to  pluck  and  eat  us,  by 
such  modes  as  are  convenient  for  him.  For  the  modes  and 
guises  I  care  little.  The  Quack  once  inevitable,  let  him  come 
swiftly,  let  him  pluck  and  eat  me; — swiftly,  that  I  may  at 
least  have  done  with  him ;  for  in  his  Quack-world  I  can  have 
no  wish  to  linger.  Though  he  slay  me,  yet  will  I  not  trust  in 
him.  Though  he  conquer  nations,  and  have  all  the  Flunkies 
of  the  Universe  shouting  at  his  heels,  yet  will  I  know  well 
that  he  is  an  Inanity ;  that  for  him  and  his  there  is  no  con- 
tinuance appointed,  save  only  in  Gehenna  and  the  Pool.  Alas, 
the  Atheist  world,  from  its  utmost  summits  of  Heaven  and 
Westminster-Hall,  downwards  through  poor  seven-feet  Hats 
and  "  Unveracities  fallen  hungry,"  down  to  the  lowest  cellars 
and  neglected  hunger-dens  of  it,  is  very  wretched. 

One  of  Dr.  Alison's  Scotch  facts  struck  us  much.1  A  poor 
Irish  Widow,  her  husband  having  died  in  one  of  the  Lanes  of 
Edinburgh,  went  forth  with  her  three  children,  bare  of  all 
resource,  to  solicit  help  from  the  Charitable  Establishments 
of  that  City.  At  this  Charitable  Establishment  and  then  at 
that  she  was  refused ;  referred  from  one  to  the  other,  helped 
by  none ;  till  she  had  exhausted  them  all ;  till  her  strength 
and  heart  failed  her :  she  sank  down  in  typhus-fever ;  died, 
and  infected  her  Lane  with  fever,  so  that  "  seventeen  other 
persons  "  died  of  fever  there  in  consequence.  The  humane 
Physician  asks  thereupon,  as  with  a  heart  too  full  for  speak- 
ing, Would  it  not  have  been  economy  to  help  this  poor  Widow  ? 
She  took  typhus-fever,  and  killed  seventeen  of  you !  —  Very 
curious.  The  forlorn  Irish  Widow  applies  to  her  fellow- 
creatures,  as  if  saying,  "Behold  I  am  sinking,  bare  of  help: 
ye  must  help  me  !  I  am  your  sister,  bone  of  your  bone  ;  one 
God  made  us :  ye  must  help  me  ! "  They  answer,  "  No,  im- 
possible ;  tliou  art  no  sister  of  ours."  But  she  proves  her 
sisterhood  ;  her  typhus-fever  kills  them :  they  actually  were 
her  brothers,  though  denying  it !  Had  human  creature  ever 
to  go  lower  for  a  proof  ? 

For,  as  indeed  was  very  natural  in  such  case,  all  govern- 

1  Observations  on  the  Mtinuyrmtnt  of  the  Poor  in  Scotland:  by  William  Fulte 
ney  Alison.  M.D.  (Edinburgh,  1840.) 

VOL.    XII.  10 


146  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  III. 

ment  of  the  Poor  by  the  Rich  has  long  ago  been  given  over 
to  Supply-and-demand,  Laissez-faire  and  such  like,  and  uni- 
versally declared  to  be  "  impossible."  "  You  are  no  sister  of 
ours ;  what  shadow  of  proof  is  there  ?  Here  are  our  parch- 
ments, our  padlocks,  proving  indisputably  our  money-safes  to 
be  ours,  and  you  to  have  no  business  with  them.  Depart !  It 
is  impossible ! "  —  Nay,  what  wouldst  thou  thyself  have  us 
do  ?  cry  indignant  readers.  Nothing,  my  friends,  —  till  you 
have  got  a  soul  for  yourselves  again.  Till  then  all  things  are 
'•'  impossible."  Till  then  I  cannot  even  bid  you  buy,  as  the 
old  Spartans  would  have  done,  twopence  worth  of  powder  and 
lead,  and  compendiously  shoot  to  death  this  poor  Irish  Widow : 
even  that  is  "  impossible  "  for  you.  Nothing  is  left  but  that 
she  prove  her  sisterhood  by  dying,  and  infecting  you  with 
typhus.  Seventeen  of  you  lying  dead  will  not  deny  such 
proof  that  she  ivas  flesh  of  your  flesh ;  and  perhaps  some  of 
the  living  may  lay  it  to  heart. 

"  Impossible  :  "  of  a  certain  two-legged  animal  with  feathers 
it  is  said,  if  you  draw  a  distinct  chalk-circle  round  him,  lie  sits 
imprisoned,  as  if  girt  with  the  iron  ring  of  Fate ;  and  will  die 
there,  though  within  sight  of  victuals,  —  or  sit  in  sick  misery 
there,  and  be  fatted  to  death.  The  name  of  this  poor  two- 
legged  animal  is  —  Goose ;  and  they  make  of  him,  when  well 
fattened,  Putt  de  foie  gras,  much  prized  by  some  1 


CHAPTER    HI. 

GOSPEL    OF    DILETTAXTISM. 

BUT  after  all,  the  Gospel  of  Dilettantism,  producing  a  Gov- 
erning Class  who  do  not  govern,  nor  understand  in  the  least 
that  they  are  bound  or  expected  to  govern,  is  still  mournfuler 
than  that  of  Mammonism.  Mammonism,  as  wo  said,  at  least 
works ;  this  goes  idle.  Mammonism  has  seized  some  portion 
of  the  message  of  Nature  to  man  ;  and  seizing  that,  and  fol- 


CHAP.  III.  GOSPEL  OF   DILETTANTISM.  147 

lowing  it,  will  seize  and  appropriate  more  and  more  of  Nature's 
message :  but  Dilettantism  has  missed  it  wholly.  "  Make 
money:"  that  will  mean  withal,  "Do  work  in  order  to  make 
money.''  But,  "  Go  gracefully  idle  in  May  fair,"  what  does  or 
can  that  mean  ?  An  idle,  game-preserving  and  even  eorn- 
lawing  Aristocracy,  in  such  an  England  as  ours  :  has  the  world, 
if  we  take  thought  of  it,  ever  seen  such  a  phenomenon  till 
very  lately  ?  Can  it  long  continue  to  see  such? 

Accordingly  the  impotent,  insolent  Donothingism  in  Prac- 
tice and  Saynothingisin  in  Speech,  which  we  have  to  witness 
on  that  side  of  our  affairs,  is  altogether  amazing.  A  Corn- 
Law  demonstrating  itself  openly,  for  ten  years  or  more,  with 
"  arguments  "  to  make  the  angels,  and  some  other  classes  of 
creatures,  weep  !  For  men  are  not  ashamed  to  rise  in  Parlia- 
ment and  elsewhere,  and  speak  the  things  they  do  not  think. 
"Expediency,"  "Necessities  of  Party,"  &c.  &c. !  It  is  not 
known  that  the  Tongue  of  Man  is  a  sacred  organ ;  that  Man 
himself  is  definable  in  Philosophy  as  an  "Incarnate  Word;" 
the  Word  not  there,  you  have  no  Man  there  either,  but  a 
Phantasm  instead  !  In  this  way  it  is  that  Absurdities  may 
live  long  enough,  —  still  walking,  and  talking  for  themselves, 
years  and  decades  after  the  brains  are  quite  out !  How  are 
"  the  knaves  and  dastards  '"  ever  to  be  got  "  arrested  "  at  that 
rate  ?  — 

"No  man  in  this  fashionable  London  of  yours,"  friend 
Sauerteig  would  say,  "speaks  a  plain  word  to  me.  Every 
man  feels  bound  to  be  something  more  than  plain ;  to  be 
pungent  withal,  witty,  ornamental.  His  poor  fraction  of 
sense  has  to  be  perked  into  some  epigrammatic  shape,  that 
it  may  prick  into  me; — perhaps  (this  is  the  commonest)  to 
l>e  topsy-turvied,  left  standing  on  its  head,  that  I  may  remem- 
ber it  the  better  !  Such  grinning  inanity  is  very  sad  to  the 
soul  of  man.  Human  faces  should  not  grin  on  one  like  masks ; 
they  should  look  on  one  like  faces !  I  love  honest  laughter, 
as  I  do  sunlight;  but  not  dishonest:  most  kinds  of  dancing 
too ;  but  the  St.-Vitus  kind  not  at  all !  A  fashionable  wit, 
ach  Himmel .'  if  you  ask,  Which,  he  or  a  Death's-head,  will  be 
the  cheerier  company  for  me  ?  pray  send  not  him ! " 


148  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  III 

Insincere  Speech,  truly,  is  the  prime  material  of  insincere 
Action.  Action  hangs,  as  it  were,  dissolved  in  Speech,  in 
Thought  whereof  Speech  is  the  Shadow ;  and  precipitates 
itself  therefrom.  The  kind  of  Speech  iii  a  man  betokens 
the  kind  of  Action  you  will  get  from  him.  Our  Speech,  in 
these  modern  days,  has  become  amazing.  Johnson  complained, 
"  Nobody  speaks  in  earnest,  Sir ;  there  is  no  serious  conversa- 
tion." To  us  all  serious  speech  of  men,  as  that  of  Seventeenth- 
Century  Puritans,  Twelfth-Century  Catholics,  German  Poets 
of  this  Century,  has  become  jargon,  more  or  less  insane.  Crom- 
well was  mad  and  a  quack;  Anselm,  Becket,  Goethe,  ditto 
ditto. 

Perhaps  few  narratives  in  History  or  Mythology  are  more 
significant  than  that  Moslem  one,  of  Moses  and  the  Dwellers  by 
the  Dead  Sea.  A  tribe  of  men  dwelt  on  the  shores  of  that  same 
Asphaltic  Lake  ;  and  having  forgotten,  as  we  are  all  too  prone 
to  do,  the  inner  facts  of  Nature,  and  taken  up  with  the  falsities 
arid  outer  semblances  of  it,  were  fallen  into  sad  conditions,  — 
verging  indeed  towards  a  certain  far  deeper  Lake.  Whereupon 
it  pleased  kind  Heaven  to  send  them  the  Prophet  Moses,  with 
an  instructive  word  of  warning,  out  of  which  might  have 
sprung  "  remedial  measures  "  not  a  few.  But  no  :  the  men  of 
the  Dead  Sea  discovered,  as  the  valet-species  always  does  in 
heroes  or  prophets,  no  comeliness  in  Moses  ;  listened  with  real 
tedium  to  Moses,  with  light  grinning,  or  with  splenetic  sniffs 
and  sneers,  affecting  even  to  yawn ;  and  signified,  in  short, 
that  they  found  him  a  humbug,  and  even  a  bore.  Such  was 
the  candid  theory  these  men  of  the  Asphalt  Lake  formed  to 
themselves  of  Moses,  That  probably  he  was  a  humbug,  that 
certainly  he  was  a  bore. 

Moses  withdrew;  but  Nature  and  her  rigorous  veracities 
did  not  withdraw.  The  men  of  the  Dead  Sea,  when  we  next 
went  to  visit  them,  were  all  "  changed  into  Apes ; " *  sitting 
on  the  trees  there,  grinning  now  in  the  most  unaffected  man- 
ner ;  gibbering  and  chattering  very  genuine  nonsense ;  finding 
the  whole  Universe  now  a  most  indisputable  Humbug !  The 
Universe  has  become  a  Humbug  to  these  Apes  who  thought  it 
1  Sale's  Koran  (Introduction). 


CHAP.  IV.  HAPPY.  149 

one.  There  they  sit  and  chatter,  to  this  hour :  only,  I  be- 
lieve, every  Sabbath  there  returns  to  them  a  bewildered  half- 
consciousness,  half-reminiscence ;  and  they  sit,  with  their 
wizened  smoke-dried  visages,  and  such  an  air  of  supreme 
tragicality  as  Apes  may ;  looking  out  through  those  blinking 
smoke-bleared  eyes  of  theirs,  into  the  wonderfulest  universal 
smoky  Twilight  and  undecipherable  disordered  Dusk  of  Things ; 
wholly  an  Uncertainty,  Unintelligibility,  they  and  it ;  and  for 
commentary  thereon,  here  and  there  an  unmusical  chatter  or 
mew  :  —  truest,  tragicalest  Humbug  conceivable  by  the  mind 
of  man  or  ape  !  They  made  no  use  of  their  souls ;  and  so 
have  lost  them.  Their  worship  on  the  Sabbath  now  is  to  roost 
there,  with  unmusical  screeches,  and  half  remember  that  they 
had  souls. 

Didst  thou  never,  O  Traveller,  fall  in  with  parties  of  this 
tribe  ?  Meseems  they  are  grown  somewhat  numerous  in  our 
day. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

HAPPY. 

ALL  work,  even  cotton-spinning,  is  noble  ;  work  is  alone 
noble  :  be  that  here  said  and  asserted  once  more.  And  in  like 
manner  too,  all  dignity  is  painful ;  a  life  of  ease  is  not  for 
any  man,  nor  for  any  god.  The  life  of  all  gods  figures  itself 
to  us  as  a  Sublime  Sadness,  — earnestness  of  Infinite  Battle 
against  Infinite  Labor.  Our  highest  religion  is  named  the 
"  Worship  of  Sorrow."  For  the  son  of  man  there  is  no  noble 
crown,  well  worn  or  even  ill  worn,  but  is  a  crown  of  thorns  !  — 
These  things,  in  spoken  words,  or  still  better,  in  felt  instincts 
alive  in  every  heart,  were  once  well  known. 

Does  not  the  whole  wretchedness,  the  whole  Atheism  as  I 
call  it,  of  man's  ways,  in  these  generations,  shadow  itself  for 
us  in  that  unspeakable  Life-philosophy  of  his :  The  pretension 
to  be  what  he  calls  "  happy  "  ?  Every  pitifulest  whipster  that 
walks  within  a  skin  has  his  head  filled  with  the  notion  that 


150  PAST   AND   PRESENT.  BOOK  III. 

he  is,  shall  be,  or  by  all  human  and  divine  laws  ought  to  be 
"happy."  His  wishes,  the  pitifulest  whipster's,  are  to  be  ful- 
filled for  him  ;  his  days,  the  pitifulest  whipster's,  are  to  flow  on 
in  ever-gentle  current  of  enjoyment,  impossible  even  for  the 
gods.  The  prophets  preach  to  us,  Thou  shalt  be  happy ; 
thou  shalt  love  pleasant  things,  and  find  them.  The  people 
clamor,  Why  have  we  not  found  pleasant  things  ? 

We  construct  our  theory  of  Human  Duties,  not  on  any 
Greatest-Nobleness  Principle,  never  so  mistaken ;  no,  but  on  a 
Greatest-Happiness  Principle.  "  The  word  Soul  with  us,  as  in 
some  Slavonic  dialects,  seems  to  be  synonymous  with  Stomach." 
We  plead  and  speak,  in  our  Parliaments  and  elsewhere,  not  as 
from  the  Soul,  but  from  the  Stomach  ;  —  wherefore  indeed  our 
pleadings  are  so  slow  to  profit.  We  plead  not  for  God's  Jus- 
tice ;  we  are  not  ashamed  to  stand  clamoring  and  pleading  for 
our  own  "interests/' 'our  own  rents  and  trade-profits  ;  we  say, 
They  are  the  "  interests  "  of  so  many  ;  there  is  such  an  intense 
desire  in  us  for  them !  We  demand  Free-Trade,  with  much 
just  vociferation  and  benevolence,  That  the  poorer  classes,  who 
are  terribly  ill  off  at  present,  may  have  cheaper  New-Orleans 
bacon.  Men  ask  on  Free-Trade  Platforms,  How  can  the  indomi- 
table spirit  of  Englishmen  be  kept  up  without  plenty  of  bacon  ? 
We  shall  become  a  ruined  Nation  !  —  Surely,  my  friends,  plenty 
of  bacon  is  good  and  indispensable  :  but,  I  doubt,  you  will 
never  get  even  bacon  by  aiming  only  at  that.  You  are  men, 
not  animals  of  prey,  well-used  or  ill-used  !  Your  Greatest- 
Happiness  Principle  seems  to  me  fast  becoming  a  rather  un- 
happy one.  —  What  if  we  should  cease  babbling  about  "  happi- 
ness," and  leave  it  restirf^  on  its  own  basis,  as  it  used  to  do  ! 

A  gifted  Byron  rises  in  his  wrath ;  and  feeling  too  surely 
that  he  for  his  part  is  not  "  happy,"  declares  the  same  in  very 
violent  language,  as  a  piece  of  news  that  may  be  interesting. 
It  evidently  has  surprised  him  much.  One  dislikes  to  see  a 
man  and  poet  reduced  to  proclaim  on  the  streets  such  tidings  : 
but  on  the  whole,  as  matters  go,  that  is  not  the  most  dislikable. 
Byron  speaks  the  truth  in  this  matter.  Byron's  large  audience 
indicates  how  true  it  is  felt  to  be. 

"  Happy,"  my  brother  ?     First  of  all,  what  difference  is  it 


CHAP.  IV.  HAPPY.  151 

whether  thou  art  happy  or  not !  To-day  becomes  Yesterday 
so  fast,  all  To-morrows  become  Yesterdays ;  and  then  there  is 
no  question  whatever  of  the  "  happiness,"  but  quite  another 
question.  Nay,  thou  hast  such  a  sacred  pity  left  at  least  for 
thyself,  thy  very  pains,  once  gone  over  into  Yesterday,  become 
joys  to  thee.  Besides,  thou  knowest  not  what  heavenly  bless- 
edness and  indispensable  sanative  virtue  was  in  them ;  thou 
shalt  only  know  it  after  many  days,  when  thou  art  wiser  !  — 
A  benevolent  old  Surgeon  sat  once  in  our  company,  with  a 
Patient  fallen  sick  by  gourmandizing,  whom  he  had  just,  too 
briefly  in  the  Patient's  judgment,  been  examining.  The  fool- 
ish Patient  still  at  intervals  continued  to  break  in  on  our  dis- 
course, which  rather  promised  to  take  a  philosophic  turn  :  "  But 
I  have  lost  my  appetite,"  said  he,  objnrgatively,  with  a  tone  of 
irritated  pathos  ;  "  I  have  no  appetite  ;  I  can't  eat !  "  —  "  My 
dear  fellow,"  answered  the  Doctor  in  mildest  tone,  "  it  is  n't  of 
the  slightest  consequence  ; "  —  and  continued  his  philosophical 
discoursings  with  us  ! 

Or  does  the  reader  not  know  the  history  of  that  Scottish 
iron  Misanthrope  ?  The  inmates  of  some  town-mansion,  in 
those  Northern  parts,  were  thrown  into  the  fearfulest  alarm 
by  indubitable  symptoms  of  a  ghost  inhabiting  the  next  house. 
or  perhaps  even  the  partition-wall !  Ever  at  a  certain  hour, 
with  preternatural  gnarring,  growling  and  screeching,  which 
attended  as  running  bass,  there  began,  in  a  horrid,  semi-articu- 
late, unearthly  voice,  this  song  :  "  Once  I  was  hap-hap-happy, 
but  now  I  'm  weeserable  !  Clack-clack-clack,  gnarr-r-r,  whuz-z : 
Once  I  was  hap-hap-happy,  but  now  I  'm  weeserable  !  "  -  Kest, 
rest,  perturbed  spirit ;  —  or  indeed,  as  the  good  old  Doctor  said  : 
-My  dear  fellow,  it  is  n't  of  the  slightest  consequence  !  But 
no  ;  the  perturbed  spirit  could  not  rest ;  and  to  the  neighbors, 
fretted,  affrighted,  or  at  least  insufferably  bored  by  him,  itww? 
of  such  consequence  that  they  had  to  go  and  examine  in  his 
haunted  chamber.  Tn  his  haunted  chamber,  they  find  that 
the  perturbed  spirit  is  an  unfortunate  —  Imitator  of  Byron  ? 
No,  is  an  unfortunate  rusty  Meat-jack,  gnarring  and  creaking 
with  rust  and  work  ;  and  this,  in  Scottish  dialect,  is  Its  Byro- 
nian  musical  Life-philosophy,  sung  according  to  ability  ! 


152  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  in. 

Truly,  I  think  the  man  who  goes  abtmt  pothering  and  up- 
roaring  for  his  "  happiness,"  —  pothering,  and  were  it  ballot- 
boxing,  poem-making,  or  in  what  way  soever  fussing  and 
exerting  himself,  —  he  is  not  the  man  that  will  help  us  to  "  get 
our  knaves  and  dastards  arrested  "  !  No  ;  he  rather  is  on  the 
way  to  increase  the  number,  —  by  at  least  one  unit  and  his 
tail !  Observe,  too,  that  this  is  all  a  modern  affair :  belongs 
not  to  the  old  heroic  times,  but  to  these  dastard  new  times. 
"  Happiness  our  being's  end  and  aim,"  all  that  very  paltry 
speculation  is  at  bottom,  if  we  will  count  well,  not  yet  two 
centuries  old  in  the  world. 

The  only  happiness  a  brave  man  ever  troubled  himself  with 
asking  much  about  was,  happiness  enough  to  get  his  work  done. 
Not  "  I  can't  eat ! "  but  "  I  can't  work  !  "  that  was  the  burden 
of  all  wise  complaining  among  men.  It  is,  after  all,  the  one 
unhappiness  of  a  man.  That  he  cannot  work  ;  that  he  cannot 
get  his  destiny  as  a  man  fulfilled.  Behold,  the  day  is  passing 
swiftly  over,  our  life  is  passing  swiftly  over  ;  and  the  night 
cometh,  Avherein  no  man  can  work.  The  night  once  come,  our 
happiness,  our  unhappiness,  —  it  is  all  abolished ;  vanished, 
clean  gone  ;  a  thing  that  has  been  :  "  not  of  the  slightest  con- 
sequence "  whether  we  were  happy  as  eupeptic  Curtis,  as  the 
fattest  pig  of  Epicurus,  or  unhappy  as  Job  with  potsherds,  as 
musical  Byron  with  Giaours  nnd  sensibilities  of  the  heart;  as 
the  unmusical  Meat-jack  with  hard  labor  and  rust !  But  our 
work,  —  behold  that  is  not  abolished,  that  has  not  vanished  : 
our  work,  behold,  it  remains,  or  the  want  of  it  remains ;  — 
for  endless  Times  and  Eternities,  remains ;  and  that  is 
now  the  sole  question  with  us  forevermure  !  Brief  brawling 
Day,  with  its  noisy  phantasms,  its  poor  paper-crowns  tinsel- 
gilt,  is  gone  ;  and  divine  everlasting  Night,  with  her  star-dia- 
dems, with  her  silences  and  her  veracities,  is  come  !  What 
hast  thou  done,  and  how  ?  Happiness,  unhappiness :  all 
that  was  but  the  wages  thou  hadst ;  thou  hast  spent 
nil  that,  in  sustaining  thyself  hitherward ;  not  a  coin  of 
it  remains  with  thee,  it  is  all  spent,  eaten  :  and  now  thy 
work,  where  is  thy  work  ?  Swift,  out  with  it ;  let  us  see  thy 
work  ! 


CHAP.  V.  THE  ENGLISH.  153 

Of  a  truth,  if  man  were  not  a  poor  hungry  dastard,  and  even 
much  of  a  blockhead  withal,  he  would  cease  criticising  his 
victuals  to  such  extent ;  and  criticise  himself  rather,  what  he 
does  with  his  victuals  ! 


CHAPTER  V. 

• 

THE    KXGLISH. 

AND  yet,  with  all  thy  theoretic  platitudes,  what  a  depth  of 
practical  sense  in  thee,  great  England  !  A  depth  of  sense, 
nf  justice,  and  courage  ;  in  which,  under  all  emergencies 
;ind  world-bewilderments,  and  under  this  most  complex  of 
emergencies  we  now  live  in,  there  is  still  hope,  there  is  still 
assurance ! 

The  English  are  a  dumb  people.  They  can  do  great  acts, 
but  not  describe  them.  Like  the  old  Romans,  and  some  few 
others,  their  Epic  Poem  is  written  on  the  Earth's  surface  : 
England  her  Mark  !  It  is  complained  that  they  have  no  art- 
ists :  one  Shakspeare  indeed  ;  but  for  Raphael  only  a  Reynolds ; 
for  Mozart  nothing  but  a  Mr.  Bishop  :  not  a  picture,  not  a  song. 
And  yet  they  did  produce  one  Shakspeare :  consider  how  the 
element  of  Shakspearian  melody  does  lie  imprisoned  in  their 
nature  ;  reduced  to  unfold  itself  in  mere  Cotton-mills,  Con- 
stitutional Governments,  and  such  like:  —  all  the  more  inter- 
esting when  it  does  become  visible,  as  even  in  such  unexpected 
shapes  it  succeeds  in  doing !  Goethe  spoke  of  the  Horse,  liow 
impressive,  almost  affecting  it  was  that  an  animal  of  such 
qualities  should  stand  obstructed  so;  its  speech  nothing  but 
an  inarticulate  neighing,  its  handiness  mere  /</>o/iness,  the 
lingers  all  constricted,  tied  together,  the  finger-nails  coagulated 
into  a  mere  hoof,  shod  with  iron.  The  more  significant,  thinks 
lie,  are  those  eye-flashings  of  the  generous  noble  quadruped ; 
those  pranciugs,  curvings  of  the  neck  clothed  with  thunder. 

A  Dog  of  Knowledge  has  free  utterance  ;  but  the  War-horse 
is  almost  mute,  very  far  from  free  !  It  is  even  so.  Truly, 


154  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  III. 

your  freest  utterances  are  not  by  any  means  always  the  best : 
they  are  the  worst  rather  ;  the  feeblest,  trivialest ;  their  mean- 
ing prompt,  but  small,  ephemeral.  Commend  me  to  the  silent 
English,  to  the  silent  Romans.  Nay  the  silent  Russians,  too, 
I  believe  to  be  worth  something :  are  they  not  even  now  drill- 
ing, under  much  obloquy,  an  immense  semi-barbarous  half- 
world  from  Finland  to  Kamtschatka,  into  rule,  subordination, 
civilization,  —  really  in  an  old  Roman  fashion ;  speaking  no 
word  ?-bout  it ;  quietly  hearing  all  manner  of  vituperative  Able 
Editors  speak !  While  your  ever-talking,  ever-gesticulating 
French,  for  example,  what  are  they  at  this  moment  drilling  ? 

—  Nay  of  all  animals,  the  freest  of  utterance,  I  should  judge, 
is  the  ;  }enus  Simla  :  go  into  the  Indian  woods,  say  all  Travel- 
lers, a?  d  look  what  a  brisk,  adroit,  unresting  Ape-population 
it  is! 

The  spoken  Word,  the  written  Poem,  is  said  to  be  an  epitome 
of  the  man  ;  how  much  more  the  done  Work.  Whatsoever  of 
morality  and  of  intelligence ;  what  of  patience,  perseverance, 
faithfulness,  of  method,  insight,  ingenuity,  energy ;  in  a  word, 
whatsoever  of  Strength  the  man  had  in  him  will  lie  written  in 
the  Work  he  does.  To  work  :  why,  it  is  to  try  himself  against 
Nature,  and  her  everlasting  unerring  Laws ;  these  will  tell  a 
true  verdict  as  to  the  man.  So  much  of  virtue  and  of  faculty 
did  ice  find  in  him  ;  so  much  and  no  more !  He  had  such 
capacity  of  harmonizing  himself  with  me  and  my  unalterable 
ever-\  sracious  Laws  ;  of  co-operating  and  working  as  /  bade 
him ;  •  —  and  has  prospered,  and  has  not  prospered,  as  you  see  ! 

—  Wi  Tking  as  great  Nature  bade  him  :  does  not  that  mean 
virtue  of  a  kind ;   nay  of  all  kinds  ?      Cotton  can    be   spun 
and  sold,  Lancashire  operatives  can  be  got  to  spin  it,  and  at 
length  one  has  the  woven  webs  and  sells  them,  by  following 
Nature's  regulations  in  that  matter  :  by  not  following  Nature's 
regulations,  you  have  them  not.     You  have  them  not ;  —  there 
is  no  Cotton-web  to  sell :  Nature  finds  a  bill  against  you  ;  your 
"  Strength  "  is  not   Strength,  but   Futility  !     Let  faculty  l>e 
honored,  so  far  as  it  is  faculty.     A  man  that  can  succeed  in 
waking  is  to  me  always  a  man. 


CHAF.  v.  THE  ENGLISH.  155 

How  one  loves  to  see  the  burly  figure  of  him,  this  thick- 
skinned,  seemingly  opaque,  perhaps  sulky,  almost  stupid  Man 
of  Practice,  pitted  against  some  light  adroit  Man  of  Theory, 
all  equipt  with  clear  logic,  and  able  anywhere  to  give  you 
Why  for  Wherefore  !  The  adroit  Man  of  Theory,  so  light  of 
movement,  clear  of  utterance,  with  his  bow  full-bent  and  quiver 
full  of  arrow-arguments,  —surely  he  will  strike  down  the  game, 
transfix  everywhere  the  heart  of  the  matter ;  triumph  every- 
where, as  he  proves  that  he  shall  and  must  do?  To  your 
astonishment,  it  turns  out  oi'tenest  No.  The  cloudy-browed, 
thick-soled,  opaque  Practicality,  with  no  logic-utterance,  in 
silence  mainly,  with  here  and  there  a  low  grunt  or  growl,  has 
in  him  what  transcends  all  logic-utterance :  a  Congruity  with 
the  Unuttered.  The  Speakable,  which  lies  atop,  as  a  superfi- 
cial film,  or  outer  skin,  is  his  or  is  not  his :  but  the  Doable, 
which  reaches  down  to  the  World's  centre,  you  find  him 
there ! 

The  rugged  Brindley  has  little  to  say  for  himself;  the 
.rugged  Brindley,  when  difficulties  accumulate  on  him,  retires 
silent,  "  generally  to  his  bed ; "  retires  "  sometimes  for  three 
days  together  to  his  bed,  that  he  may  be  in  perfect  privacy 
there/'  and  ascertain  in  his  rou^h  head  how  the  difficulties  can 
be  overcome.  The  ineloquent  Jirindley,  behold  he  has  chained 
seas  together ;  his  ships  do  visibly  float  over  valleys,  invisibly 
through  the  hearts  of  mountains  ;  the  Mersey  and  the  Thames, 
the  Humber  and  the  Severn  have  shaken  hands  :  Nature  most 
audibly  answers,  Yea !  The  Man  of  Theory  twangs  his  full- 
bent  bow  :  Nature's  Fact  ought  to  fall  stricken,  but  does  not : 
his  logic-arrow  glances  from  it  as  from  a  scaly  dragon,  and  the 
obstinate  Fact  keeps  walking  its  way.  How  singular !  At 
bottom,  you  will  have  to  grapple  closer  with  the  dragon  ;  take 
it  home  to  you,  by  real  faculty,  not  by  seeming  faculty  ;  try 
whether  you  are  stronger,  or  it  is  stronger.  Close  with  it, 
wrestle  it :  sheer  obstinate  toughness  of  muscle ;  but  much 
more,  what  we  call  toughness  of  heart,  which  will  mean  per- 
sistence hopeful  and  even  desperate,  unsubduable  patience, 
composed  candid  openness,  clearness  of  mind  :  all  this  shall 
be  "strength"  in  wrestling  your  dragon;  the  whole  man's 


156  PAST  AND   PRESENT.  BOOK  HI. 

real  strength  is  in  this  work,  we  shall  get  the  measure  of  him 
here. 

Of  all  the  Nations  in  the  world  at  present  the  English  are 
the  stupidest  in  speech,  the  wisest  in  action.  As  good  as  a 
"  dumb  "  Nation,  I  say,  who  cannot  speak,  and  have  never  yet 
spoken,  —  spite  of  the  Shakspeares  and  Miltons  who  show  us 
what  possibilities  there  are !  —  0  Mr.  Bull,  I  look  in  that  surly 
face  of  thine  with  a  mixture  of  pity  and  laughter,  yet  also  with 
wonder  and  veneration.  Thou  complainest  not,  my  illustrious 
friend ;  and  yet  I  believe  the  heart  of  thee  is  full  of  sorrow, 
of  unspoken  sadness,  seriousness,  —  profound  melancholy  (as 
some  have  said)  the  basis  of  thy  being.  Unconsciously,  for 
thou  speakest  of  nothing,  this  great  Universe  is  great  to  thee. 
Not  by  levity  of  floating,  but  by  stubborn  force  of  swimming, 
shalt  thou  make  thy  way.  The  Fates  sing  of  "thee  that  thou 
shalt  many  times  be  thought  an  ass  and  a  dull  ox,  and  shalt 
with  a  godlike  indifference  believe  it.  My  friend,  —  and  it  is 
all  untrue,  nothing  ever  falser  in  point  of  fact !  Thou  art  of 
those  great  ones  whose  greatness  the  small  passer-by  does  not 
discern.  Thy  very  stupidity  is  wiser  than  their  wisdom.  A 
grand  vis  inertice  is  in  thee ;  how  many  grand  qualities  un- 
known to  small  men  !  Nature  alone  knows  thee,  acknowl- 
edges the  bulk  and  strength  of  thee :  thy  Epic,  unsung  in 
words,  is  written  in  huge  characters  on  the  face  of  this  Planet, 
—  sea-moles,  cotton-trades,  railways,  fleets  and  cities,  Indian 
Empires,  Americas,  New  Hollands ;  legible  throughout  the 
Solar  System ! 

But  the  dumb  Russians  too,  as  I  said,  they,  drilling  all  wild 
Asia  and  wild  Europe  into  military  rank  and  file,  a  terrible  yet 
hitherto  a  prospering  enterprise,  are  still  dumber.  The  old 
Romans  also  could  not  speak,  for  many  centuries  :  —  not  till 
the  world  was  theirs ;  and  so  many  speaking  Greekdoms,  their 
logic-arrows  all  spent,  had  been  absorbed  and  abolished.  The 
logic-arrows,  how  they  glanced  futile  from  obdurate  thick- 
skinned  Facts  ;  Facts  to  be  wrestled  down  only  by  the  real 
vigor  of  Roman  thews !  —  As  for  me,  I  honor,  in  these  loud- 
babbling  days,  all  the  Silent  rather.  A  grand  Silence  that  of 
Romans  ;  —  nay  the  grandest  of  all,  is  it  not  that  of  the  gods  I 


CHAP.  V.  THE  ENGLISH.  157 

Even  Triviality,  Imbecility,  that  can  sit  silent,  how  respectable 
is  it  ill  comparison !  The  "  talent  of  silence  "  is  our  funda- 
mental one.  Great  honor  to  him  whose  Epic  is  a  melodious 
hexameter  Iliad ;  not  a  jingling  Sham-Iliad,  nothing  true  in 
it  but  the  hexameters  and  forms  merely.  But  still  greater 
honor,  if  his  Epic  be  a  mighty  Empire  slowly  built  together, 
a  mighty  Series  of  Heroic  Deeds,  —  a  mighty  Conquest  over 
Chaos ;  whlck  Epic  the  "  Eternal  Melodies  "  have,  and  must 
have,  informed  and  dwelt  in,  as  it  sung  itself !  There  is  no 
mistaking  that  latter  Epic.  Deeds  are  greater  than  Words. 
Deeds  have  such  a  life,  mute  but  undeniable,  and  grow  as 
living  trees  and  fruit-trees  do ;  they  people  the  vacuity  of 
Time,  and  make  it  green  and  worthy.  Why  should  the  oak 
prove  logically  that  it  ought  to  grow,  and  will  grow  ?  Plant 
it,  try  it ;  what  gifts  of  diligent  judicious  assimilation  and 
secretion  it  has,  of  progress  and  resistance,  of  force  to  grow, 
will  then  declare  themselves.  My  much-honored,  illustrious, 
extremely  inarticulate  Mr.  Bull !  — 

Ask  Bull  his  spoken  opinion  of  any  matter,  —  oftentimes 
the  force  of  dulness  can  no  farther  go.  You  stand  silent, 
incredulous,  as  over  a  platitude  that  borders  on  the  Infinite. 
The  man's  Churchisms,  Dissenterism s,  Puseyisms,  Bentham- 
isms, College  Philosophies,  Fashionable  Literatures,  are  unex- 
ampled in  this  world.  Fate's  prophecy  is  fulfilled ;  you  call 
the  man  an  ox  and  an  ass.  But  set  him  once  to  work,  —  re- 
spectable man  !  His  spoken  sense  is  next  to  nothing,  nine- 
tenths  of  it  palpable  nonsense:  but  his  unspoken  sense,  his 
inner  silent  feeling  of  what  is  true,  what  does  agree  with  fact, 
what  is  doable  and  what  is  not  doable,  —  this  seeks  its  fellow 
in  the  world.-  A  terrible  worker;  irresistible  against  marshes, 
mountains,  impediments,  disorder,  incivilization ;  everywhere 
vanquishing  disorder,  leaving  it  behind  him  as  method  and 
order.  He  "retires  to  his  bed  three  days,"  and  considers ! 

Nay  withal,  stupid  as  he  is,  our  dear  John,  —  ever,  after 
infinite  tumblings,  and  spoken  platitudes  innumerable  from 
barrel-heads  and  parliament-benches,  he  does  settle  down 
somewhere  about  the  just  conclusion  ;  you  are  certain  that  his 
jumblings  and  tumblings  will  end.  after  years  or  centuries,  in 


158  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  HI. 

the  stable  equilibrium.  Stable  equilibrium,  I  say ;  centre-of- 
gravity  lowest ;  —  not  the  unstable,  with  centre-of-gravity  high- 
est, as  I  have  known  it  done  by  quicker  people !  For  indeed, 
do  but  jumble  and  tumble  sufficiently,  you  avoid  that  worst 
fault,  of  settling  with  your  centre-of-gravity  highest ;  your 
centre-of-gravity  is  certain  to  come  lowest,  and  to  stay  there. 
If  slowness,  what  we  in  our  impatience  call  "  stupidity,"  be  the 
price  of  stable  equilibrium  over  unstable,  shall  we  grudge  a 
little  slowness  ?  Not  the  least  admirable  quality  of  Bull  is, 
after  all,  that  of  remaining  insensible  to  logic ;  holding  out  for 
considerable  periods,  ten  years  or  more,  as  in  this  of  the  Corn- 
Laws,  after  all  arguments  and  shadow  of  arguments  have  faded 
away  from  him,  till  the  very  urchins  on  the  street  titter  at  the 
arguments  he  brings.  Logic  —  Aoyt/cr/,  the  "  Art  of  Speech  " 
—  does  indeed  speak  so  and  so ;  clear  enough :  nevertheless 
Bull  still  shakes  his  head ;  will  see  whether  nothing  else  illogi- 
cal, not  yet  "  spoken,"  not  yet  able  to  be  "  spoken,"  do  not  lie 
in  the  business,  as  there  so  often  does!  —  My  firm  belief 
is,  that,  finding  himself  now  enchanted,  hand-shackled,  foot- 
shackled,  in  Poor-Law  Bastilles  and  elsewhere,  he  will  retire 
three  days  to  his  bed,  and  arrive  at  a  conclusion  or  two  !  His 
three-years  "total  stagnation  of  trade,"  alas,  is  not  that  a 
painful  enough  "lying  in  bed  to  consider  himself"?  Poor 
Bull! 

Bull  is  a  born  Conservative;  for  this  too  I  inexpressibly 
honor  him.  All  great  Peoples  are  conservative;  slow  to 
believe  in  novelties;  patient  of  much  error  in  actualities; 
deeply  and  forever  certain  of  the  greatness  that  is  in  LAW, 
in  Custom  once  solemnly  established,  and  now  long  recog- 
nized as  just  and  final.  —  True,  0  Radical  Reformer,  there 
is  no  Custom  that  can,  properly  speaking,  be  final ;  none. 
And  yet  tliou  seest  Customs  which,  in  all  civilized  countries, 
are  accounted  final;  nay,  under  the  Old-Roman  name  of 
Mores,  are  accounted  Morality,  Virtue,  Laws  of  God  Him- 
self. Such,  I  assure  thee,  not  a  few  of  them  are ;  such  al- 
most all  of  them  once  were.  And  greatly  do  I  respect  the 
solid  character,  —  a  blockhead,  thou  wilt  say ;  yes,  but  a 
well-conditioned  blockhead,  and  the  best-conditioned,  —  who 


CHAP.  V.  THE  ENGLISH.  159 

esteems  all  "  Customs  once  solemnly  acknowledged "  to  be 
ultimate,  divine,  and  the  rule  for  a  man  to  walk  by,  nothing 
doubting,  not  inquiring  farther.  What  a  time  of  it  had  we, 
were  all  men's  life  and  trade  still,  in  all  parts  of  it,  a  prob- 
lem, a  hypothetic  seeking,  to  be  settled  by  painful  Logics  and 
Baconian  Inductions  !  The  Clerk  in  Eastcheap  cannot  spend 
the  day  in  verifying  his  Ready-Reckoner ;  he  must  take  it 
as  verified,  true  and  indisputable ;  or  his  Book-keeping  by 
Double  Entry  will  stand  still.  "Where  is  your  Posted 
Ledger  ? "  asks  the  Master  at  night.  — "  Sir,"  answers  the 
other,  "  I  was  verifying  my  Ready-Reckoner,  and  tiud  some 
errors.  The  Ledger  is  — !  "  Fancy  such  a  thing  ! 

True,  all  turns  on  your  Ready-Reckoner  being  moderately 
correct,  —  being  not  insupportably  incorrect  !  A  Ready- 
Reckoner  which  has  led  to  distinct  entries  in  your  Ledger 
such  as  these :  "  Creditor  an  English  People  by  fifteen  hun- 
dred years  of  good  Labor ;  and  Debtor  to  lodging  in  enchanted 
Poor-Law  Bastilles  :  Creditor  by  conquering  the  largest  Empire 
the  Sun  ever  saw  ;  and  Debtor  to  Donothingism  and  '  Impossi- 
ble '  written  on  all  departments  of  the  government  thereof : 
Creditor  by  mountains  of  gold  ingots  earned;  and  Debtor  to 
No  Bread  purchasable  by  them : "  —  such  Ready-Reckoner, 
methinks,  is  beginning  to  be  suspect;  nay  is  ceasing,  and 
has  ceased,  to  be  suspect!  Such  Ready-Reckoner  is  a  Sole- 
cism in  Eastcheap  ;  and  must,  whatever  be  the  press  of  busi- 
ness, and  will  and  shall  be  rectified  a  little.  Business  can  go 
on  no  longer  with  it.  The  most  Conservative  English  People, 
thickest-skinned,  most  patient  of  Peoples,  is  driven  alike  by 
its  Logic  and  its  Unlogic,  by  things  "  spoken,"  and  by  tilings 
not  yet  spoken  or  very  speakable,  but  only  felt  and  very  unen- 
durable, to  be  wholly  a  Reforming  People.  Their  Life,  as  it 
is,  has  ceased  to  be  longer  possible  for  them. 

Urge  not  this  noble  silent  People  ;  rouse  not  the  Berserkir 
rage  that  lies  in  them !  Do  you  know  their  Cromwells, 
Hampdens,  their  Pyms  and  Bradshaws  ?  Men  very  peace- 
able, but  men  that  can  be  made  very  terrible !  Men  who, 
like  their 'old  Teutsch  Fathers  in  Agrippa's  days,  "have  a 
soul  that  despises  death;"  to  whom  "death,"  compared  with 


160  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  in. 

falsehoods  and  injustices,  is  light ;  —  "  in  whom  there  is  a 
rage  unconquerable  by  the  immortal  gods  ! "  Before  this,  the 
English  People  have  taken  very  preternatural-looking  Spectres 
by  the  beard;  saying  virtually:  "And  if  thou  wart  'preter- 
natural'? Thou  with  thy  'divine-rights'  grown  diabolic- 
wrongs?  Thou,  — not  even  'natural;'  decapitable ;  totally 
extinguishable  ! "  -Yes,  just  so  godlike  as  this  People's  pa- 
tience was,  even  so  godlike  will  and  must  its  impatience 
b«.  Away,  ye  scandalous  Practical  Solecisms,  children  actu- 
ally of  the  Prince  of  Darkness ;  ye  have  near  broken  our 
hearts  ;  we  can  and  will  endure  you  no  longer.  Begone,  we 
say  j  depart,  while  the  play  is  good  !  By  the  Most  High  God, 
whose  sons  and  born  missionaries  true  men  are,  ye  shall  not 
continue  here  !  You  and  we  have  become  incompatible ;  can 
inhabit  one  house  no  longer.  Either  you  must  go,  or  we. 
Are  ye  ambitious  to  try  which  it  shall  be  ? 

0  my  Conservative  friends,  who  still  specially  name  and 
struggle  to  approve  yourselves  "  Conservative,"  would  to 
Heaven  I  could  persuade  you  of  this  world-old  fact,  than 
which  Fate  is  not  surer,  That  Truth  and  Justice  alone  are 
capable  .of  being  "  conserved "  and  preserved !  The  thing 
which  is  unjust,  which  is  not  according  to  God's  Law,  will 
you,  in  a  God's  Universe,  try  to  conserve  that  ?  It  is  so  old, 
say  you  ?  Yes,  and  the  hotter  haste  ought  you,  of  all  others, 
to  be  in,  to  let  it  grow  no  older !  If  but  the  faintest  whisper 
in  your  hearts  intimate  to  you  that  it  is  not  fair,  —  hasten, 
for  the  sake  of  Conservatism  itself,  to  probe  it  rigorously,  to 
cast  it  forth  at  once  and  forever  if  guilty.  How  will  or  can 
you  preserve  it,  the  thing  that  is  not  fair  ?  "  Impossibility  " 
a  thousand-fold  is  marked  on  that.  And  ye  call  yourselves 
Conservatives,  Aristocracies :  —  ought  not  honor  and  noble- 
ness of  mind,  if  they  had  departed  from  all  the  Earth  else- 
where, to  find  their  last  refuge  with  you  ?  Ye  unfortunate ! 

The  bough  that  is  dead  shall  be  cut  away,  for  the  sake  of 
the  tree  itself.  Old  ?  Yes,  it  is  too  old.  Many  a  weary 
winter  has  it  swung  and  creaked  there,  and  gnawed  and 
fretted,  with  its  dead  wood,  the  organic  substance  and  still 
living  fibre  of  this  good  tree;  many  a  long  summer  has  its 


CHAP.  VI.  TWO  CENTURIES.  161 

ugly  naked  brown  defaced  the  fair  green  umbrage  ;  every  day 
it  has  done  mischief,  and  that  only  :  off  with  it,  for  the  tree's 
sake,  if  for  nothing  more  ;  let  the  Conservatism  that  would 
preserve  cut  it  away.  Did  no  wood-forester  apprise  you  that 
a  dead  bough  with  its  dead  root  left  sticking  there  is  extra- 
neous, poisonous  ;  is  as  a  dead  iron  spike,  some  horrid  rusty 
ploughshare  driven  into  the  living  substance ;  —  nay  is  far 
worse ;  for  in  every  wind-storm  ("  commercial  crisis  "  or  the 
like),  it  frets  and  creaks,  jolts  itself  to  and  fro,  and  cannot 
lie  quiet  as  your  dead  iron  spike  would. 

If  I  were  the  Conservative  Party  of  England  (which  is  an- 
other bold  figure  of  speech),  I  would  not  for  a  hundred  thousand 
pounds  an  hour  allow  those  Corn-Laws  to  continue  !  Potosi  and 
Golconda  put  together  would  not  purchase  my  assent  to  them. 
Do  you  count  what  treasuries  of  bitter  indignation  they  are 
laying  up  for  you  in  every  just  English  heart  ?  Do  you  know 
what  questions,  not  as  to  Corn-prices  and  Sliding-scales  alone, 
they  are  forcing  every  reflective  Englishman  to  ask  himself  ? 
Questions  insoluble,  or  hitherto  unsolved ;  deeper  than  any 
of  our  Logic-plummets  hitherto  will  sound  :  questions  deep 
enough,  —  which  it  were  better  that  we  did  not  name  even  in 
thought !  You  are  forcing  us  to  think  of  them,  to  begin  utter- 
ing them.  The  utterance  of  them  is  begun ;  and  where  will 
it  be  ended,  think  you  ?  When  two  millions  of  one's  brother- 
men  sit  in  Workhouses,  and  five  millions,  as  is  insolently  said, 
"rejoice  in  potatoes,"  there  are  various  things  that  must  be 
begun,  let  them  end  where  they  can. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

TWO    rKXTURIES. 

Tnr:  Settlement  effected  by  our  "  Healing  Parliament  "  in 
the  Year  of  Grace  1GOO,  though  accomplished  under  uni- 
versal acclamations  from  the  four  corners  of  the  British 
Dominions,  turns  out  to  have  been  one  of  the  mournfulpst 

VOL.   XII.  11 


162  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  III 

that  ever  took  place  in  this  land  of  ours.  It  called  and 
thought  itself  a  Settlement  of  brightest  hope  and  fulfilment, 
bright  as  the  blaze  of  universal  tar-barrels  and  bonfires  could 
make  it :  and  we  find  it  now,  on  looking  back  on  it  with  the 
insight  which  trial  has  yielded,  a  Settlement  as  of  despair. 
Considered  well,  it  was  a  Settlement  to  govern  henceforth 
without  God,  with  only  some  decent  Pretence  of  God. 

Governing  by  the  Christian  Law  of  God  had  been  found  a 
thing  of  battle,  convulsion,  confusion,  an  infinitely  difficult 
thing  :  wherefore  let  us  now  abandon  it,  and  govern  only  by 
so  much  of  God's  Christian  Law  as  —  as  may  prove  quiet  and 
convenient  for  us.  What  is  the  end  of  Government  ?  To 
guide  men  in  the  way  wherein  they  should  go ;  towards  their 
true  good  in  this  life,  the  portal  of  infinite  good  in  a  life  to 
come  ?  To  guide  men  in  such  way,  and  ourselves  in  such 
way,  as  the  Maker  of  men,  whose  eye  is  upon  us,  will  sanction 
at  the  Great  Day?  —  Or  alas,  perhaps  at  bottom  is  there  110 
Great  Day,  no  sure  outlook  of  any  life  to  come ;  but  only 
this  poor  life,  and  what  of  taxes,  felicities,  Nell-Gwynns 
and  entertainments  we  can  manage  to  muster  here  ?  In  that 
case,  the  end  of  Government  will  be,  To  suppress  all  noise 
and  disturbance,  whether  of  Puritan  preaching,  Cameronian 
psalm-singing,  thieves'-riot,  murder,  arson,  or  what  noise  so- 
ever, and  —  be  careful  that  supplies  do  not  fail !  A  very 
notable  conclusion,  if  we  will  think  of  it,  and  not  without  an 
abundance  of  fruits  for  us.  Oliver  Cromwell's  body  hung  on 
the  Tyburn  gallows,  as  the  type  of  Puritanism  found  futile, 
inexecutable,  execrable,  —  yes,  that  gallows-tree  has  been  a 
finger-post  into  very  strange  country  indeed.  Let  earnest 
Puritanism  die  ;  let  decent  Formalism,  whatsoever  cant  it  be 
or  grow  to,  live  !  We  have  had  a  pleasant  journey  in  that 
direction  ;  and  are  —  arriving  at  our  inn  ? 

To  support  the  Four  Pleas  of  the  Crown,  and  keep  Taxes 
coming  in :  in  very  sad  seriousness,  has  not  this  been,  ever 
since,  even  in  the  best  times,  almost  the  one  admitted  end 
and  aim  of  Government  ?  Religion,  Christian  Church,  Moral 
Duty  ;  the  fact  that  man  had  a  soul  at  all ;  that  in  man's  life 
there  was  any  eternal  truth  or  justice  at  all,  —  has  been  as 


CHAP.  VI.  TWO   CENTURIES.  168 

good  as  left  quietly  out  of  sight.  Church  indeed,  —  alas,  the 
endless  talk  and  struggle  we  have  had  of  High-Church,  Low- 
Church,  Church-Extension,  Church-in-Danger :  we  invite  the 
Christian  reader  to  think  whether  it  has  not  been  a  too  miser- 
able screech-owl  phantasm  of  talk  and  struggle,  as  for  a 
"  Church,"  —  which  one  had  rather  not  define  at  present ! 

But  now  in  these  godless  two  centuries,  looking  at  England 
and  her  efforts  and  doings,  if  we  ask,  What  of  England's  doings 
the  Law  of  Nature  had  accepted,  Nature's  King  had  actually 
furthered  and  pronounced  to  have  truth  in  them,  —  where  is 
our  answer  ?  Neither  the  "Church"  of  Kurd  and  Warburton, 
nor  the  Anti-Church  of  Hume  and  Paine  ;  not  in  any  shape  the 
Spiritualism  of  England  :  all  this  is  already  seen,  or  beginning 
to  be  seen,  for  what  it  is  ;  a  thing  that  Nature  does  not  own. 
On  the  one  side  is  dreary  Cant,  with  a  reminiscence  of  things 
noble  and  divine  ;  on  the  other  is  but  acrid  Candor,  with  a 
prophecy  of  things  brutal,  infernal.  Hurd  and  Warburton  are 
sunk  into  the  sere  and  yellow  leaf ;  no  considerable  body  of 
true-seeing  men  looks  thitherward  for  healing :  the  Paine-and- 
Hume  Atheistic  theory,  of  "things  well— let^_a_lone,"  with 
Liberty,  Equality  and  the  like,  is  also  in  these  days  declaring 
itself  nought,  unable  to  keep  the  world  from  taking  fire. 

The  theories  and  speculations  of  both  these  parties,  and, 
we  may  say,  of  all  intermediate  parties  and  persons,  prove  to 
be  things  which  the  Eternal  Veracity  did  not  accept;  things 
superficial,  ephemeral,  which  already  a  near  Posterity,  finding 
them  already  dead  and  brown-leafed,  is  about  to  suppress  and 
forget.  The  Spiritualism  of  England,  for  those  godless  years, 
is,  as  it  were,  all  forgettable.  Much  has  been  written  :  but  the 
perennial  Scriptures  of  Mankind  have  had  small  accession  :  from 
all  English  Books,  in  rhyme  or  prose,  in  leather  binding  or  in 
paper  wrappage,  how  many  verses  have  been  added  to  these  ? 
Our  most  melodious  Singers  have  sung  as  from  the  throat  out- 
wards :  from  the  inner  Heart  of  Man,  from  the  great  Heart  of 
Nature,  through  no  Pope  or  Philips,  has  there  come  any  tone. 
The  Oracles  have  l>een  dumb.  In  brief,  the  Spoken  Word  of 
England  has  not  been  true.  The  Spoken  Word  of  England 
turns  out  to  have  been  trivial  j  of  short  endurance  j  not  valu 


164  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  III. 

able,  not  available  as  a  Word,  except  for  the  passing  day.  It 
lias  been  accordant  with  transitory  Semblance ;  discordant  with 
eternal  Fact.  It  has  been  unfortunately  not  a  Word,  but  a 
Cant;  a  helpless  involuntary  Cant,  nay  too  often  a  cunning 
voluntary  one  :  either  way,  a  very  mournful  Cant ;  the  Voice 
not  of  Nature  and  Fact,  but  of  something  other  than  these. 

With  all  its  miserable  shortcomings,  with  its  wars,  contro- 
versies, with__jj£~-~fcrarh?s-Tm ions,  famine-insurrections, — it  is 
her  Practical  Material  Work  alone  that  England  has  to  show 
for  herself!  This,  and  hitherto  almost  nothing  more;  yet 
actually  this.  The  grim  inarticulate  veracity  of  the  English 
People,  unable  to  speak  its  meaning  in  words,  has  turned  it- 
self silently  on  things ;  and  the  dark  powers  of  Material 
Natijre  have  answered,  "  Yes,  this  at  least  is  true,  this  is  not 
false  '"~^Hn-.«mswpvsf  7J.nt.iirp...  "  Waste  desert-shrubs  of  the 
Tropical  swamps  have  become  Cotton-trees ;  and  here,  under 
my  furtherance,  are  verily  woven  shirts,  —  hanging  unsold, 
undistributed,  but  capable  to  be  distributed,  capable  to  cover 
the  bare  backs  of  my  children  of  men.  Mountains,  old  as  the 
Creation,  I  have  permitted  to  be  bored  through  ;  bituminous 
fuel-stores,  the  wreck  of  forests  that  were  green  a  million  years 
ago,  —  I  have  opened  them  from  my  secret  rock-chambers,  and 
they  are  yours,  ye  English.  Your  huge  fleets,  steamships, 
do  sail  the  sea ;  huge  Indias  do  obey  you ;  from  huge  New 
Englands  and  Antipodal  Austral ias  conies  profit  and  traffic  to 
this  Old  England  of  mine  !  "  So  answers  Nature.  The  Prac- 
tical Labor  of  England  is  not  a  chimerical  Triviality  :  it  is  a 
Fact,  acknowledged  by  all  the  Worlds  ;  which  no  man  and  no 
demon  will  contradict.  It  is,  very  audibly,  though  very  inar- 
ticulately as  yet,  the  one  God's  Voice  we  have  heard  in  these 
two  atheistic  centuries. 

And  now  to  observe  with  what  bewildering  obscurations  and 
impediments  all  this  as  yet  stands  entangled,  and  is  yet  intelli- 
gible to  no  man !  How,  with  our  gcoss^Atheism,  we  hear  it 
not  to  be  the  Voice  of  God  to  us,  but  regard  it  merely  as  a  Voice 
of  earthly  ^Profit-and-Loss.  And  have  a  Hell  in  England, — 
the  Hell  of  noT~"making  money.  And  coldly  see  the  all-con- 


CHAP.  vil.  OVER-PRODUCTION.  165 

quering  valiant  Sons  of  Toil  sit  enchanted,  by  the  million, 
in  their  Poor-Law  Bastille,  as  if  this  w<»r<>  Xntm-f£s_J.nw  j  _ 
mumbling  to  ourselves  some  vague  janglement  of  Laissez-faire, 
Supply-and-demand,  Cash-payment  the  one  nexus  of  man  to 
man :  Free-trade,  Competition,  and  Devil  take  the  hindmost, 
our  latest  Gospel  yet  preached  ! 

As~'it,  in  truth,  there  were  no  God  of  Labor ;  as  if  jjodlike 
Labor  and  brutal  Mamrnonism  were  convertible  terins7 A 
serious,  most  earnest  Mammonism  grown  Midas-eared ;  an 
unserious  Dilettantism,  earnest  about  nothing,  grinning  with 
inarticulate  incredulous  incredible  jargon  about  all  things,  as 
the  enchanted  Dilettanti  do  by  the  Dead  Sea  !  It  is  mournful 
enough,  for  the  present  hour ;  were  there  not  an  endless  hope 
in  it  withal.  Giant  LABOR,  truest  emblem  there  is  of  God  the 
World- Worker,  Demiurgus,  and  Eternal  Maker  ;  noble  LABOK, 
which  is  yet  to  be  the  King  of  this  Earth,  and  sit  on  the 
highest  throne,  —  staggering  hitherto  like  a  blind  irrational 
giant,  hardly  allowed  to  have  his  common  place  on  the  street- 
pavements  ;  idle  Dilettantism,  Dead-Sea  Apism  crying  out, 
"  Down  with  him  ;  he  is  dangerous  !  " 

Labor  must  become  a  seeing  rational  giant,  with  a  soul  in 
the  body  of  him,  and  take  his  place  on  the  throne  of  things,  — 
leaving  his  Mammonism,  and  several  other  adjuncts/ on  the 
lower  steps  of  said  throne. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

OVER-PRODUCTION. 

BUT  what  will  reflective  readers  say  of  a  Governing  Class, 
such  as  ours,  addressing  its  Workers  with  an  indictment  of 
"Over-production"!  Over-production:  runs  it  not  so  ?  "  Ye 
miscellaneous,  ignoble  manufacturing  individuals,  ye  have 
produced  too  much  !  We  accuse  you  of  making  alwve  two 
hundred  thousand  shirts  for  the  bare  backs  of  mankind. 


166  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  in. 

Your  trousers  too,  which  you  have  made,  of  fustian,  of  cassi- 
mere,  of  Scotch-plaid,  of  jane,  nankeen  and  woollen  broadcloth, 
are  they  not  manifold  ?  Of  hats  for  the  human  head,  of  shoes 
for  the  human  foot,  of  stools  to  sit  on,  spoons  to  eat  with  — 
Nay,  what  say  we  hats  or  shoes  ?  You  produce  gold-watches, 
jewelries,  silver-forks,  and  epergnes,  commodes,  chiffoniers, 
stuffed  sofas  —  Heavens,  the  Commercial  Bazaar  and  multitu- 
dinous Howel-and-Jameses  cannot  contain  you.  You  have 
produced,  produced  ;  —  he  that  seeks  your  indictment,  let  him 
look  around.  Millions  of  shirts,  and  empty  pairs  of  breeches, 
hang  there  in  judgment  against  you.  We  accuse  you  of  over- 
producing :  you  are  criminally  guilty  of  producing  shirts, 
breeches,  hats,  shoes  and  commodities,  in  a  frightful  over- 
abundance. And  now  there  is  a  glut,  and  your  operatives 
cannot  be  fed. 

Never  surely,  against  an  earnest  Working  Mammonism  was 
there  brought,  by  Game-preserving  aristocratic  Dilettantism, 
a  stranger  accusation,  since  this  world  began.  My  lords  and 
gentlemen,  —  why,  it  was  you  that  were  appointed,  by  the  fact 
and  by  the  theory  of  your  position  on  the  Earth,  to  "  make 
and  administer  Laws," — that  is  to  say,  in  a  world  such  as 
ours,  to  guard  against  "  gluts  ; "  against  honest  operatives, 
who  had  done  their  work,  remaining  unfed !  I  say,  you  were 
appointed  to  preside  over  the  Distribution  and  Apportion- 
ment of  the  Wages  of  Work  done  ;  and  to  see  well  that  there 
went  no  laborer  without  his  hire,  were  it  of  money-coins,  were 
it  of  hemp  galloAvs-ropes  :  that  function  was  yours,  and  from 
immemorial  time  has  been ;  yours,  and  as  yet  no  other's. 
These  poor  shirt-spinners  have  forgotten  much,  which  by  the 
virtual  unwritten  law  of  their  position  they  should  have  re- 
membered :  but  by  any  written  recognized  law  of  their  posi- 
tion, what  have  they  forgotten  ?  They  were  set  to  make 
shirts.  The  Community  with  all  its  voices  commanded  them, 
saying,  "  Make  shirts  ; "  —  and  there  the  shirts  are  !  Too 
many  shirts?  Well,  that  is  a  novelty,  in  this  intemperate 
Earth,  with  its  nine  hundred  millions  of  bare  backs  !  But  the 
Community  commanded  you,  saying,  "  See  that  the  shirts  are 
well  apportioned,  that  our  Human  Laws  be  emblem  of  God's 


CHAP.  VII.  OVER  PRODUCTION.  167 

Laws  ; "  —  and  where  is  the  apportionment  ?  Two  million 
shirtless  or  ill-shirted  workers  sit  enchanted  in  Workhouse 
Bastilles,  five  million  more  (according  to  some)  in  Ugolino 
Hunger-cellars ;  and  for  remedy,  you  say,  —  what  say  you  ?  — 
"  Raise  our  rents:  "  I  have  not  in  my  time  heard  any  stranger 
speech,  not  even  on  the  Shores  of  the  Dead  Sea.  You  continue 
addressing  those  poor  shirt-spinners  and  over-producers  in 
realty  a  too  triumphant  manner! 

"  Will  yon  bandy  accusations,  will  you  accuse  us  of  over- 
production ?  We  take  the  Heavens  and  the  Earth  to  witness 
that  we  have  produced  nothing  at  all.  Not  from  us  proceeds 
this  frightful  overplus  of  shirts.  In  the  wide  domains  of 
created  Nature  circulates  no  shirt  or  thing  of  our  producing. 
Certain  fox-brushes  nailed  upon  our  stable-door,  the  fruit  of 
fair  audacity  at  Melton  Mowbray ;  these  we  have  produced, 
and  they  are  openly  nailed  up  there.  He  that  accuses  us  of 
prodxicing,  let  him  show  himself,  let  him  name  what  and  when. 
We  are  innocent  of  producing ;  —  ye  ungrateful,  what  moun- 
tains of  things  have  we  not,  on  the  contrary,  had  to  'consume  ' 
and  make  away  with  !  Mountains  of  those  your  heaped  manu- 
factures, wheresoever  edible  or  wearable,  have  they  not  dis- 
appeared before  us,  as  if  we  had  the  talent  of  ostriches,  of 
cormorants,  and  a  kind  of  divine  faculty  to  eat  ?  Ye  ungrate- 
ful !  —  and  did  you  not  grow  under  the  shadow  of  our  wings  ? 
Are  not  your  filthy  mills  built  on  these  fields  of  ours  ;  on  this 
soil  of  England,  which  belongs  to  —  whom  think  you  ?  And 
we  shall  not  offer  you  our  own  wheat  at  the  price  that  pleases 
us,  but  that  partly  pleases  you  ?  A  precious  notion  !  What 
would  become  of  you,  if  \ve  chose,  at  any  time,  to  decide  on 
growing  no  wheat  more  ?  " 

Yes,  truly,  here  is  the  ultimate  rock-basis  of  all  Corn-Laws  ; 
whereon,  at  the  bottom  of  much  arguing,  they  rest,  as  securely 
as  they  can  :  What  would  Income  of  you,  if  we  decided,  some 
day,  on  growing  no  more  wheat  at  all  ?  If  we  chose  to  grow 
only  partridges  henceforth,  and  a  modicum  of  wheat  for  our 
own  uses?  Cannot  we  do  what  we  like  with  our  own?  — 
Yes,  indeed  !  For  my  share,  if  I  could  melt  Gneiss  Rock,  and 
oreate  Law  of  Gravitation  ;  it'  I  could  stride  out  to  the  Dog- 


168  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  HI. 

gerbank,  some  morning,  and  striking  down  my  trident  there 
into  the  mud-waves,  say,  "  Be  land,  be  fields,  meadows,  moun- 
tains and  fresh-rolling  streams  !  "  by  Heaven,  I  should  incline 
to  have  the  letting  of  that  land  in  perpetuity,  and  sell  the 
wheat  of  it,  or  burn  the  wheat  of  it,  according  to  my  own  good 
judgment!  My  Corn-Lawing  friends,  you  affright  me. 

To  the  "  Millo-craey  "  so  called,  to  the  Working-Aristocracy, 
steeped  too  deep  in  mere  ignoble  Mammonism,  and  as  yet  all 
unconscious  of  its  noble  destinies,  as  yet  but  an  irrational  or 
semi-rational  giant,  struggling  to  awake  some  soul  in  itself,  — 
the  world  will  have  much  to  say,  reproachfully,  reprovingly, 
admonishingly.  But  to  the  Idle  Aristocracy,  what  will  the 
world  have  to  say  ?  Things  painful,  and  not  pleasant ! 

To  the  man  who  works,  who  attempts,  in  never  so  ungra- 
cious barbarous  a  way,  to  get  forward  with  some  work,  you 
will  hasten  out  with  furtherances,  with  encouragements,  cor- 
rections ;  you  will  say  to  him  :  "  Welcome  ;  thou  art  ours ;  our 
care  shall  be  of  thee."  To  the  Idler,  again,  never  so  gracefully 
going  idle,  coming  forward  with  never  so  many  parchments, 
you  will  not  hasten  out ;  you  will  sit  still,  and  be  disinclined 
to  rise.  You  will  say  to  him  :  "  Not  welcome,  0  complex 
Anomaly ;  would  tkou  hadst  stayed  out  of  doors :  for  who  of 
mortals  knows  what  to  do  with  thee  ?  Thy  parchments  :  yes, 
they  are  old,  of  venerable  yellowness ;  and  we  too  honor 
parchment,  old-established  settlements,  and  venerable  use-and- 
wont.  Old  parchments  in  very  truth  :  — yet  on  the  whole,  if 
thou  wilt  remark,  they  are  young  to  the  Granite  Rocks,  to  the 
Ground-plan  of  God's  Universe!  We  advise  thee  to  put  up 
thy  parchments  ;  to  go  home  to  thy  place,  and  make  no  need- 
less noise  whatever.  Our  heart's  wish  is  to  save  thee  :  yet 
there  as  thou  art,  hapless  Anomaly,  with  nothing  but  thy 
yellow  parchments,  noisy'  futilities^  and  shot-belts  and  fox- 
brushes, who  of  gods  or  men  can  avert  dark  Fate  ?  Be  coun- 
selled, ascertain  if  no  work  exist  for  thee  on  God's  Earth  ;  if 
thou  find  no  coinmanded-duty  there  but  that  of  going  grace- 
fully idle  ?  Ask,  inquire  earnestly,  with  a  half-frantic  ear- 
nestness ;  for  the  answer  means  Existence  or  Annihilation  to 
thee.  We  apprise  thee  of  the  world-old  fact,  becoming  sternly 


CHAP.  VIII.  UNWORKIXG   ARISTOCRACY.  160 

disclosed  again  in  these  clays,  That  he  who  cannot  work  in  this 
Universe  cannot  get  existed  in  it :  had  he  parchments  to  thatch 
the  face  of  the  world,  these,  combustible  fallible  sheepskin, 
cannot  avail  him.  Home,  thou  unfortunate ;  and  let  us  have 
at  least  no  noise  from  thee  !  " 

Suppose  the  unfortunate  Idle  Aristocracy,  as  the  unfor- 
tunate Working  one  has  done,  were  to  "retire  three  days 
to  its  bed,"  and  consider  itself  there,  what  o'clock  it  had 
Income  ? 

How  have  we  to  regret  not  only  that  men  have  "  no  relig- 
ion," but  that  they  have  next  to  no  reflection ;  and  go  about 
with  heads  full  of  mere  extraneous  noises,  with  eyes  wide- 
open  but  visionless,  —  for  most  part  in  the  somnambulist 
state ! 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

UNWORKING    ARISTOCRACY. 

IT  is  well  said,  "  Land  is  the  right  basis  of  an  Aristocracy ; " 
whoever  possesses  the  Land,  he,  more  emphatically  than  any 
other,  is  the  Governor,  Vice-king  of  the  people  on  the  Land. 
It  is  in  these  days  as  it  was  in  those  of  Henry  Plantagenet 
and  Abbot  Samson ;  as  it  will  in  all  days  be.  The  Land  is 
Mother  of  us  all ;  nourishes,  shelters,  gladdens,  lovingly  en- 
riches us  all ;  in  how  many  ways,  from  our  first  wakening  to 
our  last  sleep  on  her  blessed  mother-bosom,  does  she,  as  with 
blessed  mother-arms,  enfold  us  all ! 

The  Hill  I  first  saw  the  Sun  rise  over,  when  the  Sun  and 
I  and  all  things  were  yet  in  their  auroral  hour,  who  can 
divorce  me  from  it  ?  Mystic,  deep  as  the  world's  centre,  are 
the  roots  I  have  struck  into  my  Native  Soil ;  no  tree  that  grows 
is  rooted  so.  From  noblest  Patriotism  to  humblest  industrial 
Mechanism  ;  from  highest  dying  for  your  country,  to  lowest 
quarrying  and  coal-boring  for  it,  a  Nation's  Life  depends  upon 
*ts  Land.  Again  and  again  we  have  to  say,  there  can  be  no 
*,me  Aristocracy  but  must  possess  the  Laud. 


170  PAST  AND   PRESENT.  BOOK  III. 

Men  talk  of  "  selling "  Land.  Land,  it  is  true,  like  Epic 
Poems  and  even  higher  things,  in  such  a  trading  world,  has 
to  be  presented  in  the  market  for  what  it  will  bring,  and  as 
we  say  be  tl  sold :  "  but  the  notion  of  "  selling,"  for  certain 
bits  of  metal,  the  Iliad  of  Homer,  how  much  more  the  Land 
of  the  World-Creator,  is  a  ridiculous  impossibility  !  We  buy 
what  is  salable  of  it ;  nothing  more  was  ever  buyable.  Who 
can  or  could  sell  it  to  us  ?  Properly  speaking,  the  Land 
belongs  to  these  two :  To  the  Almighty  God ;  and  to  all  His 
Children  of  Men  that  have  ever  worked  well  on  it,  or  that 
shall  ever  work  well  on  it.  No  generation  of  men  can  or  could, 
with  never  such  solemnity  and  effort,  sell  Land  on  any  other 
principle  :  it  is  not  the  property  of  any  generation,  we  say, 
but  that  of  all  the  past  generations  that  have  worked  on  it, 
and  of  all  the  future  ones  that  shall  work  on  it. 

Again,  we  hear  it  said,  The  soil  of  England,  or  of  any 
country,  is  properly  worth  nothing,  except  "  the  labor  be- 
stowed on  it."  This,  speaking  even  in  the  language  of  East- 
cheap,  is  not  correct.  The  rudest  space  of  country  equal  in 
extent  to  England,  could  a  whole  English  Nation,  with  all 
their  habitudes,  arrangements,  skills,  with  whatsoever  they 
do  carry  within  the  skins  of  them  and  cannot  be  stript  of, 
suddenly  take  wing  and  alight  on  it,  —  would  be  worth  a 
very  considerable  thing !  Swiftly,  within  year  and  day,  this 
English  Nation,  with  its  multiplex  talents  of  ploughing,  spin- 
ning, hammering,  mining,  road-making  and  trafficking,  would 
bring  a  handsome  value  out  of  such  a  space  of  country.  On 
the  other  hand,  fancy  what  an  English  Nation,  once  "  on  the 
wing,"  could  have  done  with  itself,  had  there  been  simply  no 
soil,  not  even  an  inarable  one,  to  alight  on  ?  Vain  all  its 
talents  for  ploughing,  hammering,  and  whatever  else;  there 
is  no  Earth-room  for  this  Nation  with  its  talents :  this  Nation 
will  have  to  keep  hovering  on  the  wing,  dolefully  shrieking  to 
and  fro ;  and  perish  piecemeal ;  burying  itself,  down  to  the 
last  soul  of  it,  in  the  waste  unfirmamented  seas.  Ah  yes, 
soil,  with  or  without  ploughing,  is  the  gift  of  God.  The  soil 
of  all  countries  belongs  evermore,  in  a  very  considerable 
degree,  to  the  Almighty  Maker!  The  last  stroke  of  labor 


CHAP.  VIII.  UNWORKING   ARISTOCRACY.  171 

bestowed  on  it  is  not  the  making  of  its  value,  but  only  the 
increasing  thereof. 

It  is  very  strange,  the  degree  to  which  these  truisms  are 
forgotten  in  our  days ;  how,  in  the  ever-whirling  chaos  of 
Formulas,  we  have  quietly  lost  sight  of  Fact,  —  which  it  is  s<i 
perilous  not  to  keep  forever  in  sight.  Fact,  if  we  do  not 
see  it,  will  make  us  feel  it  by  and  by !  —  From  much  loud 
controversy,  and  Corn-Law  debating  there  rises,  loud  though 
inarticulate,  once  more  in  these  years,  this  very  question 
among  others,  Who  made  the  Land  of  England  ?  Who  made 
it,  this  respectable  English  Land,  wheat-growing,  metallifer- 
ous, carboniferous,  which  will  let  readily  hand  over  head  for 
seventy  millions  or  upwards,  as  it  here  lies :  who  did  make 
it  ?  —  "  We  ! "  answer  the  much-consuming  Aristocracy ;  "  We ! " 
as  they  ride  in,  moist  with  tlie  sweat  of  Melton  Mowbray  : 
"  It  is  we  that  made  it ;  or  are  the  heirs,  assigns  and  repre- 
sentatives of  those  who  did  ! "  —  My  brothers,  You  ?  Ever- 
lasting honor  to  you,  then ;  and  Corn-Laws  as  many  as  you 
will,  till  your  own  deep  stomachs  cry  Enough,  or  some  voice 
of  Human  pity  for  our  famine  bids  you  Hold!  Ye  are  as 
gods,  that  can  create  soil.  Soil-creating  gods  there  is  no 
withstanding.  They  have  the  might  to  sell  wheat  at  what 
price  they  list ;  and  the  right,  to  all  lengths,  and  famine* 
lengths,  —  if  they  be  pitiless  infernal  gods  !  Celestial  gods, 
I  think,  would  stop  short  of  the  famine-price ;  but  no  infernal 
nor  any  kind  of  god  can  be  bidden  stop  !  —  Infatuated  mor- 
tals, into  what  questions  are  you  driving  every  thinking  man 
in  England  ? 

I  say,  you  did  not  make  the  Land  of  England ;  and,  by 
the  possession  of  it,  you  are  bound  to  furnish  guidance  and 
governance  to  England  !  That  is  the  law  of  your  position  on 
this  God's-Earth ;  an  everlasting  act  of  Heaven's  Parliament, 
not  repealable  in  St.  Stephen's  or  elsewhere !  True  govern- 
ment and  guidance  ;  not  no-government  and  Laissez-faire  ; 
how  much  less,  mis-government  and  Corn-Law !  There  is  not 
an  imprisoned  Worker  looking  out  from  these  Bastilles  but 
appeals,  very  audibly  in  Heaven's  High  Courts,  against  you, 
and  me,  and  every  one  who  is  not  imprisoned,  "Why  am  I 


172  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  III. 

here  ?  "  His  appeal  is  audible  in  Heaven ;  and  will  become 
audible  enough  on  Earth  too,  if  it  remain  unheeded  here.  His 
appeal  is  against  you,  foremost  of  all ;  you  stand  in  the  front 
rank  of  the  accused ;  you,  by  the  very  place  you  hold,  have 
first  of  all  to  answer  him  and  Heaven ! 

What  looks  maddest,  miserablest  in  these  mad  and  miser- 
able Corn-Laws  is  independent  altogether  of  their  "  effect  on 
wages,"  their  effect  on  "increase  of  trade,"  or  any  other  such 
effect :  it  is  the  continual  maddening  proof  they  protrude  into 
the  faces  of  all  men,  that  our  Governing  Class,  called  by  God 
and  Nature  and  the  inflexible  law  of  Fact,  either  to  do  some- 
thing towards  governing,  or  to  die  and  be  abolished,  —  have 
not  yet  learned  even  to  sit  still  and  do  no  mischief  !  For  no 
Anti-Corn-Law  League  yet  asks  more  of  them  than  this  ;  — 
Nature  and  Fact,  very  imperatively,  asking  so  nuich  more  of 
them.  Anti-Corn-Law  League  asks  not,  Do  something;  but, 
Cease  your  destructive  misdoing,  Do  ye  nothing ! 

Nature's  message  will  have  itself  obeyed :  messages  of  mere 
Free-Trade,  Anti-Corn-Law  League  and  Laissez-faire,  will  then 
need  small  obeying !  —  Ye  fools,  in  name  of  Heaven,  work, 
work,  at  the  Ark  of  Deliverance  for  yourselves  and  us,  while 
hours  are  still  granted  you !  No :  instead  of  working  at  the 
Ark,  they  say,  "  We  cannot  get  our  hands  kept  rightly 
warm  ; "  and  sit  obstinately  burning  the  planks.  No  madder 
spectacle  at  present  exhibits  itself  under  this  Sun. 

The  Working  Aristocracy ;  Mill-owners,  Manufacturers,  Com- 
manders of  Working  Men :  Alas,  against  them  also  much  shall 
be  brought  in  accusation  ;  much,  —  and  the  freest  Trade  in 
Corn,  total  abolition  of  Tariffs,  and  uttermost  "  Increase  of 
Manufactures"  and  "Prosperity  of  Commerce,''  will  perma- 
nently mend  no  jot  of  it.  The  Working  Aristocracy  must 
strike  into  a  new  path ;  must  understand  that  money  alone 
is  not  the  representative  either  of  man's  success  in  the  world, 
or  of  man's  duties  to  man ;  and  reform  their  own  selves  from 
top  to  bottom,  if  they  wish  England  reformed.  England  will 
not  be  habitable  long,  \inreformed. 

The  Working  Aristocracy  —    Yes,  but  on  the  threshold  of 


CHAP.  VIII.  UNWORKING  ARISTOCRACY.  173 

all  this,  it  is  again  and  again  to  be  asked,  What  of  the  Idle 
Aristocracy?  Again  and  again,  What  shall  we  say  of  the 
Idle  Aristocracy,  the  Owners  of  the  Soil  of  England ;  whose 
recognized  function  is  that  of  handsomely  consuming  the  rents 
of  England,  shooting  the  partridges  of  England,  and  as  an 
agreeable  amusement  (if  the  purchase-money  and  other  con- 
veniences serve),  dilettante-ing  in  Parliament  and  Quarter- 
Sessions  for  England  ?  We  will  say  mournfully,  in  the 
presence  of  Heaven  and  Earth,  —  that  we  stand  speechless, 
stupent,  and  know  not  what  to  say !  That  a  class  of  men 
entitled  to  live  sumptuously  on  the  marrow  of  the  earth ; 
permitted  simply,  nay  entreated,  and  as  yet  entreated  in  vain, 
to  do  nothing  at  all  in  return,  was  never  heretofore  seen  on 
the  face  of  this  Planet.  That  such  a  class  is  transitory, 
exceptional,  and,  unless  Nature's  Laws  fall  dead,  cannot  con- 
tinue. That  it  has  continued  now  a  moderate  while ;  has, 
for  the  last  fifty  years,  been  rapidly  attaining  its  state  of 
perfection.  That  it  will  have  to  find  its  duties  and  do  them  ; 
or  else  that  it  must  and  will  cease  to  be  seen  on  the  face  of 
this  Planet,  which  is  a  Working  one,  not  an  Idle  one. 

Alas,  alas,  the  Working  Aristocracy,  admonished  by  Trades- 
unions,  Chartist  conflagrations,  above  all  by  their  own  shrewd 
sense  kept  in  perpetual  communion  with  the  fact  of  things, 
will  assuredly  reform  themselves,  and  a  working  world  will 
still  be  possible  :  —  but  the  fate  of  the  Idle  Aristocracy,  as  one 
reads  its  horoscope  hitherto  in  Corn-Laws  and  such  like,  is  an 
abyss  that  fills  one  with  despair.  Yes,  my  rosy  fox-hunting 
brothers,  a  terrible  Hippoemtic  look  reveals  itself  (God  knows, 
not  to  my  joy)  through  those  fresh  buxom  countenances  of 
yours.  Through  your  Corn-Law  Majorities,  Sliding-Seales, 
Protecting-Duties,  Bribery-Elections,  and  triumphant  Kentish- 
fire,  a  thinking  eye  discerns  ghastly  images  of  ruin,  too  ghastly 
for  words ;  a  handwriting  as  of  MKNK,  MKXE.  Men  and 
brothers,  on  your  Sliding-scale  you  seem  sliding,  and  to  have 
slid,  —  you  little  know  whither  !  Good  God  !  did  not  a  French 
Donothiug  Aristocracy,  hardly  above  half  a  century  ago,  de- 
clare in  like  manner,  and  in  its  featherhead  believe  in  like 
manner,  "We  cannot  exist,  and  continue  to  dress  and  parade 


174  PAST  AKD  PRESENT.  BOOK  HI. 

ourselves,  o&  the  just  rent  of  the  soil  of  France ;  but  we  must 
have  farther  pa7ment  than  rent  of  the  soil,  we  must  be  ex- 
empted from  taxes  too,"  —  we  must  have  a  Corn-Law  to  extend 
our  rent  ?  This  was  in  1789  :  in  four  years  more  —  Did  you 
look  into  the  Tanneries  of  Meudon,  and  the  long-naked  making 
for  themselves  breeches  of  human  skins !  May  the  merciful 
Heavens  avert  the  omen  ;  may  we  be  wiser,  that  so  we  be  less 
wretched. 

A  High  Class  without  duties  to  do  is  like  a  tree  planted  on 
precipices  ;  from  the  roots  of  which  all  the  earth  has  been 
crumbling.  Nature  owns  no  man  who  is  not  a  Martyr  withal. 
Is  there  a  man  who  pretends  to  live  luxuriously  housed  up ; 
screened  from  all  work,  from  want,  danger,  hardship,  the 
victory  over  which  is  what  we  name  work,  —  he  himself  to  sit 
serene,  amid  down-bolsters  and  appliances,  and  have  all  his 
work  and  battling  done  by  other  men  ?  And  such  man  calls 
himself  a  noble-man  ?  His  fathers  worked  for  him,  he  says ; 
or  successfully  gambled  for  him :  here  he  sits ;  professes,  not 
in  sorrow  but  in  pride,  that  he  and  his  have  done  no  work,  time 
out  of  mind.  It  is  the  law  of  the  land,  and  is  thought  tc  be 
the  law  of  the  Universe,  that  he,  alone  of  recorded  men,  shall 
have  no  task  laid  on  him,  except  that  of  eating  his  cooked 
victuals,  and  not  flinging  himself  out  of  window.  Once  more 
I  will  say,  there  was  no  stranger  spectacle  ever  shown  under 
this  Sun.  A  veritable  fact  in  our  England  of  the  Nineteenth 
Century.  His  victuals  he  does  eat :  but  as  for  keeping  in  the 
inside  of  the  window,  —  have  not  his  friends,  like  me,  enough 
to  do  ?  Truly,  looking  at  his  Corn-Laws,  Game-Laws,  Chandos- 
Clauses,  Bribery -Elections  and  much  else,  you  do  shudder  over 
the  tumbling  and  plunging  he  makes,  held  back  by  the  lapels 
and  coat-skirts  ;  only  a  thin  fence  of  window-glass  before  him, 
—  and  in  the  street  mere  horrid  iron  spikes  !  My  sick  brother, 
as  in  hospital-maladies  men  do,  thou  dreamest  of  Paradises 
and  Eldorados,  which  are  far  from  thee.  "  Cannot  I  do  what 
I  like  with  my  own  ?  "  Gracious  Heaven,  my  brother,  this 
that  thou  seest  with  those  sick  eyes  is  no  firm  Eldorado,  and 
Corn-Law  Paradise  of  Donothings,  but  a  dream  of  thy  own 


CHAP.  vin.  UNWORKING  ARISTOCRACY.  175 

fevered  brain.  It  is  a  glass-window,  I  tell  thee,  so  many  sto- 
ries from  the  street ;  where  are  iron  spikes  and  the  law  of 
gravitation ! 

What  is  the  meaning  of  nobleness,  if  this  be  "  noble "  ? 
In  a  valiant  suffering  for  others,  not  in  a  slothful  making 
others  suffer  for  us,  did  nobleness  ever  lie.  The  chief  of  men 
is  he  who  stands  in  the  van  of  men ;  fronting  the  peril  which 
frightens  back  all  others ;  which,  if  it  be  not  vanquished,  will 
devour  the  others.  Every  noble  crown  is,  and  on  Earth  will 
forever  be,  a  crown  of  thorns.  The  Pagan  Hercules,  why  was 
he  accounted  a  hero  ?  Because  he  had  slain  Nemean  Lions, 
cleansed  Augean  Stables,  undergone  Twelve  Labors  only  not 
too  heavy  for  a  god.  In  modern,  as  in  ancient  and  all  socie- 
ties, the  Aristocracy,  they  that  assume  the  functions  of  an 
Aristocracy,  doing  them  or  not,  have  taken  the  post  of  honor ; 
which  is  the  post  of  difficulty,  the  post  of  danger,  —  of  death, 
if  the  difficulty  be  not  overcome.  H  faut  payer  de  sa  vie. 
Why  was  our  life  given  us,  if  not  that  we  should  manfully  give 
it  ?  Descend,  0  Donothing  Pomp ;  quit  thy  down-cushions  ; 
expose  thyself  to  learn  what  wretches  feel,  and  how  to  cure 
it  ?  The  Czar  of  Eussia  became  a  dusty  toiling  shipwright ; 
worked  with  his  axe  in  the  Docks  of  Saardam ;  and  his  aim 
was  small  to  thine.  Descend  thou :  undertake  this  horrid 
"living  chaos  of  Ignorance  and  Hunger"  weltering  round  thy 
feet ;  say,  "  I  will  heal  it,  or  behold  I  will  die  foremost  in  it." 
Such  is  verily  the  law.  Everywhere  and  everywhen  a  man 
has  to  "pay  with  his  life ; "  to  do  his  work,  as  a  soldier  does, 
at  the  expense  of  life.  In  no  Piepowder  earthly  Court  can 
you  sue  an  Aristocracy  to  do  its  work,  at  this  moment :  but  in 
the  Higher  Court,  which  even  it  calls  "Court  of  Honor,"  and 
which  is  the  Court  of  Necessity  withal,  and  the  eternal  Court 
of  the  Universe,  in  which  all  Fact  comes  to  plead,  and  every 
Human  Soul  is  an  apparator,  —  the  Aristocracy  is  answerable, 
and  even  now  answering,  there. 

Parchments  ?  Parchments  are  venerable :  but  they  ought 
at  all  times  to  represent,  as  near  as  they  by  possibility  can, 
the  writing  of  the  Adamant  Tablets ;  otherwise  they  are  not 


176  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  III. 

so  venerable  !  Benedict  the  Jew  in  vain  pleaded  parchments ; 
his  usuries  were  too  many.  The  King  said,  "Go  to,  for  all 
thy  parchments,  thou  shalt  pay  just  debt;  down  with  thy 
dust,  or  observe  this  tooth-forceps  ! "  Nature,  a  far  juster 
Sovereign,  has  far  terribler  forceps.  Aristocracies,  actual 
and  imaginary,  reach  a  time  when  parchment  pleading  does 
not  avail  them.  "  Go  to,  for  all  thy  parchments,  thou  shalt 
pay  due  debt !  "  shouts  the  Universe  to  them,  in  an  emphatic 
manner.  They  refuse  to  pay,  confidently  pleading  parchment : 
their  best  grinder-tooth,  with  horrible  agony,  goes  out  of  their 
jaw.  Wilt  thou  pay  now  ?  A  second  grinder,  again  in  hor- 
rible agony,  goes :  a  second,  and  a  third,  and  if  need  be,  all 
the  teeth  and  grinders,  and  the  life  itself  with  them ;  —  and 
then  there  is  free  payment,  and  an  anatomist-subject  into  the 
bargain ! 

Reform  Bills,  Corn-Law  Abrogation  Bills,  and  then  Land- 
Tax  Bill,  Property -Tax  Bill,  and  still  dimmer  list  of  etceteras  ; 
grinder  after  grinder :  —  my  lords  and  gentlemen,  it  were 
better  for  you  to  arise  and  begin  doing  your  work,  than  sit 
there  and  plead  parchments  ! 

We  write  no  Chapter  on  the  Corn-Laws,  in  this  place  5  the 
Corn-Laws  are  too  mad  to  have  a  Chapter.  There  is  a  certain 
immorality,  when  there  is  not  a  necessity,  in  speaking  about 
things  finished;  in  chopping  into  small  pieces  the  already 
slashed  and  slain.  When  the  brains  are  out,  why  does  not  a 
Solecism  die  ?  It  is  at  its  own  peril  if  it  refuse  to  die ;  it 
ought  to  make  all  conceivable  haste  to  die,  and  get  itself 
buried  !  The  trade  of  Anti-Corn-Law  Lecturer  in  these  days, 
still  an  indispensable,  is  a  highly  tragic  one. 

The  Corn-Laws  will  go,  and  even  soon  go :  would  we  were 
all  as  sure  of  the  Millennium  as  they  are  of  going !  They  go 
swiftly  in  these  present  months ;  with  an  increase  of  velocity, 
an  ever-deepening,  ever-widening  sweep  of  momentum,  truly 
notable.  It  is  at  the  Aristocracy's  own  damage  and  peril,  still 
more  than  at  any  other's  whatsoever,  that  the  Aristocracy 
maintains  them  ;  —  at  a  damage,  say  only,  as  above  computed, 
of  a  "  hundred  thousand  pounds  an  hour"!  The  Corn-Laws 


CHAP.  IX.                  WORKING   ARISTOCRACY.  177 

keep  all  the  air  hot :   fostered  by  their  fever-warmth,  much 

that  is  evil,  but  much  also,  how  much  that  is  good  and  indis- 
pensable, is  rapidly  coming  to  life  among  us ! 


CHAPTER  IX. 

WORKING    ARISTOCRACY. 

A  POOR  Working  Mammonism  getting  itself  "  strangled  in 
the  partridge-nets  of  an  Unworking  Dilettantism,"  and  bellow- 
ing dreadfully,  and  already  black  in  the  face,  is  surely  a  dis- 
astrous spectacle  !  But  of  a  Midas-eared  Mammonism,  which 
indeed  at  bottom  all  pure  Mam  monisms  are,  what  better  can 
you  expect  ?  No  better  ;  —  if  not  this,  then  something  other 
equally  disastrous,  if  not  still  more  disastrous.  Mammonisms, 
grown  asinine,  have  to  become  human  again,  and  rational ;  they 
have,  on  the  whole,  to  cease  to  be  Mammonisms,  were  it  even 
on  compulsion,  and  pressure  of  the  hemp  round  their  neck !  — 
My  friends  of  the  Working  Aristocracy,  there  are  now  a  great 
many  things  which  you  also,  in  your  extreme  need,  will  have 
to  consider. 

The  Continental  people,  it  would  seem,  are  "  exporting  our 
machinery,  beginning  to  spin  cotton  and  manufacture  for 
themselves,  to  cut  us  out  of  this  market  and  then  out  of  that !  " 
Sad  news  indeed  ;  but  irremediable  ;  —  by  no  means  the  saddest 
news.  The  saddest  news  is,  that  we  should  find  our  National 
Existence,  as  I  sometimes  hear  it  said,  depend  on  selling 
manufactured  cotton  at  a  farthing  an  ell  cheaper  than  any 
other  People.  A  most  narrow  stand  for  a  great  Nation  to  base 
itself  on !  A  stand  which,  with  all  the  Corn-Law  Abrogations 
conceivable,  I  do  not  think  will  be  capable  of  enduring. 

My  friends,  suppose  we  quitted  that  stand;  suppose  we 
came  honestly  down  from  it,  and  said :  "This  is  our  minimum 
of  cotton-prices.  We  care  not,  for  the  present,  to  make  cot- 
ton any  cheaper.  Do  you,  if  it  seem  so  blessed  to  you,  make 

VOL.   XII.  \1 


178  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  IIL 

cotton  cheaper.  Fill  your  lungs  with  cotton-fuzz,  your  hearts 
with  copperas-fumes,  with  rage  and  mutiny ;  become  ye  the 
general  gnomes  of  Europe,  slaves  of  the  lamp  ! "  —  I  admire  a 
Nation  which  fancies  it  will  die  if  it  do  not  undersell  all  other 
Nations,  to  the  end  of  the  world.  Brothers,  we  will  cease  to 
undersell  them ;  we  will  be  content  to  equal-sell  them ;  to  be 
happy  selling  equally  with  them!  I  do  not  see  the  use  of 
underselling  them.  Cotton-cloth  is  already  twopence  a  yard 
or  lower ;  and  yet  bare  backs  were  never  more  numerous  among 
us.  Let  inventive  men  cease  to  spend  their  existence  inces- 
santly contriving  how  cotton  can  be  made  cheaper ;  and  try 
to  invent,  a  little,  how  cotton  at  its  present  cheapness  could 
he  somewhat  justlier  divided  among  us.  Let  inventive  men 
consider,  Whether  the  Secret  of  this  Universe,  and  of  Man's 
Life  there,  does,  after  all,  as  we  rashly  fancy  it,  consist  in 
making  money  ?  There  is  One  God,  just,  supreme,  almighty : 
but  is  Mammon  the  name  of  him  ?  —  With  a  Hell  which  means 
"  Failing  to  make  money,"  I  do  not  think  there  is  any  Heaven 
possible  that  would  suit  one  well ;  nor  so  much  as  an  Earth 
that  can  be  habitable  long !  In  brief,  all  this  Mammon-Gospel, 
of  Supply-and-demand,  Competition,  Laissez-faire,  and  Devil 
take  the  hindmost,  begins  to  be  one  of  the  shabbiest  Gospels 
ever  preached ;  or  altogether  the  shabbiest.  Even  with  Dilet- 
tante partridge-nets,  and  at  a  horrible  expenditure  of  pain, 
who  shall  regret  to  see  the  entirely  transient,  and  at  best 
somewhat  despicable  life  strangled  out  of  it?  At  the  best, 
as  we  say,  a  somewhat  despicable,  unvenerable  thing,  this 
same  "  Laissez-faire  ; "  and  now,  at  the  ivorst,  fast  growing  an 
altogether  detestable  one ! 

"But  what  is  to  be  done  with  our  manufacturing  population, 
with  our  agricultural,  with  our  ever-increasing  population  ?  " 
cry  many.  —  Ay,  what  ?  Many  things  can  be  done  with  them, 
a  hundred  things,  and  a  thousand  things,  —  had  we  once  got 
a  soul,  and  begun  to  try.  This  one  thing,  of  doing  for  them 
by  "  underselling  all  people,"  and  filling  our  own  bursten 
pockets  and  appetites  by  the  road ;  and  turning  over  all  care 
for  any  "population,"  or  human  or  divine  consideration  ex- 
cept cash  only,  to  the  winds,  with  a  "  Laissez-faire  "  and  the 


CHAP.  IX.  WORKING  ARISTOCRACY.  179 

rest  of  it :  this  is  evidently  not  the  thing.  Farthing  cheaper 
per  yard  ?  No  great  Nation  can  stand  on  the  apex  of  such  a 
pyramid  ;  screwing  itself  higher  and  higher ;  balancing  itself 
on  its  great-toe  !  Can  England  not  subsist  without  being  above 
all  people  in  working?  England  never  deliberately  purposed 
such  a  thing.  If  England  work  better  than  all  people,  it  shall 
be  well.  England,  like  an  honest  worker,  will  work  as  well 
as  she  can ;  and  hope  the  gods  may  allow  her  to  live  on  that 
basis.  Laissez-faire  and  much  else  being  once  well  dead,  how 
many  ''impossibles"  will  become  possible!  They  are  impos- 
sible, as  cotton-cloth  at  twopence  an  ell  was  —  till  men  set 
about  making  it.  The  inventive  genius  of  great  England  will 
not  forever  sit  patient  with  mere  wheels  and  pinions,  bobbins, 
straps  and  billy-rollers  whirring  in  the  head  of  it.  The  inven- 
tive genius  of  England  is  not  a  Beaver's,  or  a  Spinner's  or 
Spider's  genius  :  it  is  a  Man's  genius,  I  hope,  with  a  God  over 
him! 

Laissez-faire,  Supply -and-demand,  —  one  begins  to  be  weary 
of  all  that.  Leave  all  to  egoism,  to  ravenous  greed  of  money, 
of  pleasure,  of  applause  :  —  it  is  the  Gospel  of  Despair !  Man 
is  a  Patent-Digester,  then :  only  give  him  Free  Trade,  Free 
digesting-room ;  and  each  of  us  digest  what  he  can  come  at, 
leaving  the  rest  to  Fate !  My  unhappy  brethren  of  the  Work- 
ing Mammonism,  my  unhappier  brethren  of  the  Idle  Dilet- 
tantism, no  world  was  ever  held  together  in  that  way  for  long. 
A  world  of  mere  Patent-Digesters  will  soon  have  nothing  to 
digest :  such  world  ends,  and  by  Law  of  Nature  must  end,  in 
"  over-population ;  "  in  howling  universal  famine,  "  impossi- 
bility," and  suicidal  madness,  as  of  endless  dog-kennels  run 
rabid.  Supply-and-demand  shall  do  its  full  part,  and  Free 
Trade  shall  be  free  as  air ;  —  thou  of  the  shot-belts,  see  thou 
forbid  it  not,  with  those  paltry,  worse  than  Mammonish  swind- 
leries  and  Sliding-scales  of  thine,  which  are  seen  to  be  swind- 
leries  for  all  thy  canting,  which  in  times  like  ours  are  very 
scandalous  to  see !  And  Trade  never  so  well  freed,  and  all 
Tariffs  settled  or  abolished,  and  Rupply-and-demand  in  full 
operation,  —  let  us  all  know  that  we  have  yet  done  nothing; 
that  we  have  merely  cleared  the  ground  for  doing. 


180  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  III. 

Yes,  were  the  Corn-Laws  ended  to-morrow,  there  is  nothing 
yet  ended ;  there  is  only  room  made  for  all  manner  of  things 
beginning.  The  Corn-Laws  gone,  and  Trade  made  free,  it  is 
as  good  as  certain  this  paralysis  of  industry  will  pass  away. 
We  shall  have  another  period  of  commercial  enterprise,  of 
victory  and  prosperity ;  during  which,  it  is  likely,  much  money 
will  again  be  made,  and  all  the  people  may,  by  the  extant 
methods,  still  for  a  space  of  years,  be  kept  alive  and  physically 
fed.  The  strangling  band  of  Famine  will  be  loosened  from 
our  necks ;  we  shall  have  room  again  to  breathe ;  time  to  be- 
think ourselves,  to  repent  and  consider !  A  precious  and  thrice- 
precious  space  of  years ;  wherein  to  struggle  as  for  life  in 
reforming  our  foul  ways ;  in  alleviating,  instructing,  regulating 
our  people  ;  seeking,  as  for  life,  that  something  like  spiritual 
food  be  imparted  them,  some  real  governance  and  guidance 
be  provided  them !  It  will  be  a  priceless  time.  For  our  new 
period  or  paroxysm  of  commercial  prosperity  will  and  can,  on 
the  old  methods  of  "Competition  and  Devil  take  the  hind- 
most," prove  but  a  paroxysm :  a  new  paroxysm,  —  likely 
enough,  if  we  do  not  use  it  better,  to  be  our  last.  In  this,  of 
itself,  is  no  salvation.  If  our  Trade  in  twenty  years,  "nour- 
ishing" as  never  Trade  nourished,  could  double  itself;  yet 
then  also,  by  the  old  Laissez-faire  method,  our  Population  is 
doubled :  we  shall  then  be  as  we  are,  only  twice  as  many  of 
us,  twice  and  ten  times  as  unmanageable ! 

All  this  dire  misery,  therefore ;  all  this  of  our  poor  Work- 
house Workmen,  of  our  Chartisms,  Trades-strikes,  Corn-Laws, 
Toryisms,  and  the  general  downbreak  of  Laissez-faire  in  these 
days,  —  may  we  not  regard  it  as  a  voice  from  the  dumb  bosom 
of  Nature,  saying  to  us  :  "  Behold  !  Supply-and-demand  is  not 
the  one  Law  of  Nature  ;  Cash-payment  is  not  the  sole  nexus 
of  man  with  man,  —  how  far  from  it !  Deep,  far  deeper  than 
Supply-and-demand,  are  Laws,  Obligations  sacred  as  Man's 
Life  itself :  these  also,  if  you  will  continue  to  do  work,  yoii 
shall  now  learn  and  obey.  He  that  will  learn  them,  behold 
Nature  is  on  his  side,  he  shall  yet  work  and  prosper  with 
noble  rewards.  He  that  will  not  learn  them,  Nature  is  against 


CHAP.  DC.  WORKING  ARISTOCRACY.  181 

him,  he  shall  not  be  able  to  do  work  iu  Nature's  empire, — 
not  in  hers.  Perpetual  mutiny,  contention,  hatred,  isolation, 
execration  shall  wait  on  his  footsteps,  till  all  men  discern  that 
the  thing  which  he  attains,  however  golden  it  look  or  be,  is 
not  success,  but  the  want  of  success." 

Supply-and-demand,  —  alas  !  For  what  noble  work  was  ) 
there  ever  yet  any  audible  "  demand "  in  that  poor  sense  ? 
The  man  of  Macedonia,  speaking  in  vision  to  an  Apostle  Paul, 
"  Come  over  and  help  us,"  did  not  specify  what  rate  of  wages 
he  would  give !  Or  was  the  Christian  Religion  itself  accom- 
plished by  Prize-Essays,  Bridgewater  Bequests,  and  a  "mini- 
mum of  Four  thousand  five  hundred  a  year  "  ?  No  demand 
that  I  heard  of  was  made  then,  audible  in  any  Labor-market, 
Manchester  Chamber  of  Commerce,  or  other  the  like  emporium 
and  luring  establishment;  silent  were  all  these  from  any  whis- 
per of  such  demand ;  —  powerless  were  all  these  to  "  supply  " 
it,  had  the  demand  been  in  thunder  and  earthquake,  with  gold 
Eldorados  and  Mahometan  Paradises  for  the  reward.  Ah  me, 
into  what  waste  latitudes,  in  this  Time- Voyage,  have  we  wan- 
dered;  like  adventurous  Sindbads;  —  where  the  men  go  about 
as  if  by  galvanism,  with  meaningless  glaring  eyes,  and  have 
no  soul,  but  only  a  beaver-faculty  and  stomach  !  The  haggard 
despair  of  Cotton-factory,  Coal-mine  operatives,  Chandos  Farm- 
laborers,  in  these  days,  is  painful  to  behold  ;  but  not  so  pain- 
ful, hideous  to  the  inner  sense,  as  that  brutish  God-forgetting 
Profit-and-Loss  Philosophy  and  Life-theory,  which  we  hear 
jangled  on  all  hands  of  us,  in  senate-houses,  spouting-clubs, 
leading-articles,  pulpits  and  platforms,  everywhere  as  the  Ulti- 
mate Gospel  and  candid  Plain-English  of  Man's  Life,  from  the 
throats  and  j>ens  and  thoughts  of  ail-but  all  men  !  — 

Enlightened  Philosophies,  like  Moliere  Doctors,  will  tell 
you :  "  Enthusiasms.  Self-sacrifice,  Heaven,  Hell  and  such 
like :  yes,  all  that  was  true  enough  fur  old  stupid  times ;  all 
that  used  to  be  true  :  but  we  have  changed  all  that,  nous  aeons 
change,  tout  cela  !  "  Well ;  if  the  heart  be  got  round  now  into  the 
right  side,  and  the  liver  to  the  left ;  if  man  have  no  heroism 
in  him  deeper  than  the  wish  to  eat,  and  in  his  soul  there 
dwell  now  no  Infinite  of  Hope  and  Awe,  and  no  divine  Silence 


182  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  in. 

can  become  imperative  because  it  is  not  Sinai  Thunder,  and 
no  tie  will  bind  if  it  be  not  that  of  Tyburn  gallows-ropes,  — 
then  verily  you  have  changed  all  that ;  and  for  it,  and  for  you, 
and  for  me,  behold  the  Abyss  and  nameless  Annihilation  is 
ready.  So  scandalous  a  beggarly  Universe  deserves  indeed 
nothing  else  ;  I  cannot  say  I  would  save  it  from  Annihila- 
tion. Vacuum,  and  the  serene  Blue,  will  be  much  handsomer ; 
easier  too  for  all  of  us.  I,  for  one,  decline  living  as  a  Patent- 
Digester.  Patent-Digester,  Spinning-Mule,  Mayfair  Clothes- 
Horse :  many  thanks,  but  your  Chaosships  will  have  the  good- 
ness to  excuse  me  ! 


CHAPTER  X. 

PLUGSON    OF    UNDERSHOT. 

ONE  thing  I  do  know :  Never,  on  this  Earth,  Avas  the  rela- 
tion of  man  to  man  long  carried  on  by  Cash-payment  alone. 
If,  at  any  time,  a  philosophy  of  Laissez-faire,  Competition 
and  Supply-and-demand,  start  up  as  the  exponent  of  human 
relations,  expect  that  it  will  soon  end. 

Such  philosophies  will  arise:  for  man's  philosophies  are 
usually  the  "  supplement  of  his  practice ; "  some  ornamental 
Logic-varnish,  some  outer  skin  of  Articulate  Intelligence, 
with  which  he  strives  to  render  his  dumb  Instinctive  Doings 
presentable  when  they  arc  done.  Such  philosophies  will 
arise ;  be  preached  as  Mammon-Gospels,  the  ultimate  Evan- 
gel of  the  World  ;  be  believed,  with  what  is  called  belief,  with 
much  superficial  bluster,  and  a  kind  of  shallow  satisfaction 
real  in  its  way  :  —  but  they  are  ominous  gospels  !  They  are 
the  sure,  and  even  swift,  forerunner  of  great  changes.  Expect 
that  the  old  System  of  Society  is  done,  is  dying  and  fallen 
into  dotage,  when  it  begins  to  rave  in  that  fashion.  Most 
Systems  that  I  have  watched  the  death  of,  for  the  last  three 
thousand  years,  have  gone  just  so.  The  Ideal,  the  True  and 
Noble  that  was  in  them  having  faded  out,  and  nothing  now 
remaining  but  naked  Egoism,  vulturous  Greediness,  they  can- 


CHAP.  X.  PLUGSON  OF  UNDERSHOT.  183 

not  live;  they  are  bound  aiid  inexorably  ordained  by  the 
oldest  Destinies,  Mothers  of  the  Universe,  to  die.  Curious 
enough :  they  thereupon,  as  I  have  pretty  generally  noticed, 
devise  some  light  comfortable  kind  of  "  wine-and-walnuts 
philosophy "  for  themselves,  this  of  Supply-and-demand  or 
another ;  and  keep  saying,  during  hours  of  mastication  and 
rumination,  which  they  call  hours  of  meditation :  "  Soul,  take 
thy  ease  ;  it  is  all  well  that  thou  art  a  vulture-soul ; "  —  and 
pangs  of  dissolution  come  upon  them,  oftenest  before  they 
are  aware ! 

Cash-payment  never  was,  or  could  except  for  a  few  years 
be,  the  union-bond  of  man  to  man.  Cash  never  yet  paid  one 
man  fully  his  deserts  to  another ;  nor  could  it,  nor  can  it,  now 
or  henceforth  to  the  end  of  the  world.  I  invite  his  Grace  of 
Castle-Rackreut  to  reflect  on  this ;  —  does  he  think  that  a 
Land  Aristocracy  when  it  becomes  a  Land  Auctioneership  can 
have  long  to  live  ?  Or  that  Sliding-scales  will  increase  the 
vital  stamina  of  it  ?  The  indomitable  Plugson  too,  of  the  re- 
spected Firm  of  Plugson,  Hunks  and  Company,  in  St.  Dolly 
Undershot,  is  invited  to  reflect  on  this ;  for  to  him  also  it  will 
be  new,  perhaps  even  newer.  Book-keeping  by  double  entry 
is  admirable,  and  records  several  things  in  an  exact  manner. 
But  the  Mother-Destinies  also  keep  their  Tablets ;  in  Heaven's 
Chancery  also  there  goes  on  a  recording ;  and  things,  as  my 
Moslem  friends  say,  are  "  written  on  the  iron  leaf/' 

Your  Grace  and  Plugson,  it  is  like,  go  to  Church  occa- 
sionally :  did  you  never  in  vacant  moments,  with  perhaps  a 
dull  parson  droning  to  you,  glance  into  your  New  Testament, 
and  the  cash-account  stated  four  times  over,  by  a  kind  of 
quadruple  entry,  —  in  the  Four  Gospels  there  ?  I  consider 
that  a  cash-account,  and  balance-statement  of  work  done  and 
wages  paid,  worth  attending  to.  Precisely  siirh,  though  on 
a  smaller  scale,  go  on  at  all  moments  under  this  Sun  ;  and  the 
statement  and  balance  of  them  in  the  Plugson  Ledgers  and 
on  the  Tablets  of  Heaven's  Chancery  are  discrepant  exceed- 
ingly ;  —  which  ought  really  to  teach,  and  to  have  long  since 
taught,  an  indomitable  common-sense  Plugson  of  Undershot, 
much  more  an  unattackable  uncommon-sense  Grace  of  Rack 


184  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  111. 

rent,  a  thing  or  two  !  —  In  brief,  we  shall  have  to  dismiss  the 
Cash-Gospel  rigorously  into  its  own  place  :  we  shall  have  to 
know,  on  the  threshold,  that  either  there  is  some  infinitely 
deeper  Gospel,  subsidiary,  explanatory  and  daily  and  hourly 
corrective,  to  the  Cash  one ;  or  else  that  the  Cash  one  itself 
and  all  others  are  fast  travelling ! 

For  all  human  things  do  require  to  have  an  Ideal  in  them  ; 
to  have  some  Soul  in  them,  as  we  said,  were  it  only  to  keep 
the  Body  unputrefied.  And  wonderful  it  is  to  see  how  the 
Ideal  or  Soul,  place  it  in  what  ugliest  Body  you  may,  will 
irradiate  said  Body  with  its  own  nobleness ;  will  gradually, 
incessantly,  mould,  modify,  new-form  or  reform  said  ugliest 
Body,  and  make  it  at  last  beautiful,  and  to  a  certain  degree 
divine  !  —  Oh,  if  you  could  dethrone  that  Brute-god  Mammon, 
and  put  a  Spirit-god  in  his  place  !  One  way  or  other,  he  must 
and  will  have  to  be  dethroned. 

Fighting,  for  example,  as  I  often  say  to  myself,  Fighting 
with  steel  murder-tools  is  surely  a  much  uglier  operation  than 
Working,  take  it  how  you  will.  Yet  even  of  Fighting,  in  re- 
ligious Abbot  Samson's  days,  see  what  a  Feudalism  there  hud 
grown,  —  a  ''glorious  Chivalry,"  much  besung  down  to  the 
present  day.  Was  not  that  one  of  the  "  impossiblest "  things  ? 
Under  the  sky  is  no  uglier  spectacle  than  two  men  with 
clenched  teeth,  and  hell-fire  eyes,  hacking  one  another's  flesh  ; 
converting  precious  living  bodies,  and  priceless  living  souls, 
into  nameless  masses  of  putrescence,  useful  only  for  turnip- 
manure.  How  did  a  Chivalry  ever  come  out  of  that  f  how 
anything  that  was  not  hideous,  scandalous,  infernal  ?  It  will 
be  a  question  worth  considering  by  and  by. 

I  remark,  for  the  present,  only  two  things  :  first,  that  the 
Fighting  itself  was  not,  as  we  rashly  suppose  it,  a  Fighting 
without  cause,  but  more  or  less  with  cause.  Man  is  created  to 
fight ;  he  is  perhaps  best  of  all  definable  as  a  born  soldier ; 
his  life  "  a  battle  and  a  march,"  under  the  right  General.  It 
is  forever  indispensable  for  a  man  to  fight :  now  with  Neces- 
sity, with  Barrenness,  Scarcity,  with  Puddles,  Bogs,  tangled 
Forests,  unkempt  Cotton ;  —  now  also  with  the  hallucinations 


CHAP.  X.  PLUGSON  OF  UNDERSHOT.  185 

of  his  poor  fellow  Men.  Hallucinatory  visions  rise  in  the  head 
of  my  poor  fellow  man  ;  make  him  claim  over  me_rights  which. 
s.  All  Fighting,  as  we  noticed  long  ago,  is  the  dusty 


conflict  of  strengths,  each  thinking  itself  the  strongest,  or,  in 
other  words,  the  justest  ;  —  of  Mights  which  do  in  the  long- 
run,  and  forever  will  in  this  just  Universe  in  the  long-run, 
mean  Rights.  In  conflict  the  perishable  part  of  them,  beaten 
sufficiently,  flies  off  into  dust  :  this  process  ended,  appears  the 
imperishable,  the  true  and  exact. 

And  now  let  us  remark  a  second  thing  :  how,  in  these  bale- 
ful operations,  a  noble  devout-hearted  Chevalier  will  comport 
himself,  and  an  ignoble  godless  Bucanier  and  Choctaw  Indian. 
Victory  is  the  aim  of  each.  But  deep  in  the  heart  of  the  noble 
man  it  lies  forever  legible,  that  as  an  Invisible  Just  God  made 
him,  so  will  and  must  God's  Justice  and  this  only,  were  it 
never  so  invisible,  ultimately  prosper  in  all  controversies  and 
enterprises  and  battles  whatsoever.  What  an  Influence  ;  ever- 
present,  —  like  a  Soul  in  the  rudest  Caliban  of  a  l>ody  ;  like  a 
ray  of  Heaven,  and  illuminative  creative  Fiat-Liur,  in  the  wast- 
est  terrestrial  Chaos!  Blessed  divine  Influence,  traceable  even 
in  the  horror  of  Battle-fields  and  garments  rolled  in  blood  :  how 
it  ennobles  even  the  Battle-field  ;  and,  in  place  of  a  Choctaw 
Massacre,  makes  it  a  Field  of  Honor  !  A  Battle-field  too  is 
great.  Considered  well,  it  is  a  kind  of  Quintessence  of  Labor; 
Labor  distilled  into  its  utmost  concentration  ;  the  significance 
of  years  of  it  compressed  into  an  hour.  Here  too  thou  shalt 
be  strong,  and  not  in  muscle  only,  if  thou  wouldst  prevail. 
Hen;  too  thou  shalt  be  strong  of  heart,  noble  of  soul;  thou 
shalt  dread  no  pain  or  death,  thou  shalt  not  love  ease  or  life  ; 
in  rage,  thou  shalt  remember  mercy,  justice  ;  —  thou  shalt  be 
a  Knight  and  not  a  Choctaw,  if  thou  wouldst  prevail  !  It  is 
the  rule  of  all  battles,  against  hallucinating  fellow  Men,  against 
unkempt  Cotton,  or  whatsoever  battles  they  may  be,  which  a 
man  in  this  world  has  to  fight. 

Howel  Davies  dyes  the  West-Indian  Seas  with  blood,  piles 
his  decks  with  plunder  ;  approves  himself  the  expertest  Sea- 
man, the  claringest  Sea-fighter  :  but  he  gains  no  lasting  victory. 
lasting  victory  is  not  possible  for  him.  Not,  had  he  fleets 


186  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  Ih. 

larger  than  the  combined  British  Navy  all  united  with  him  in 
bucaniering.  He,  once  for  all,  cannot  prosper  in  his  duel.  He 
strikes  down  his  man  :  yes ;  but  his  man,  or  his  man's  repre- 
sentative, has  no  notion  to  lie  struck  down  ;  neither,  though 
slain  ten  times,  will  he  keep  so  lying;  —  nor  has  the  Universe 
any  notion  to  keep  him  so  lying !  On  the  contrary,  the  Uni- 
verse and  he  have,  at  all  moments,  all  manner  of  motives  to 
start  up  again,  and  desperately  fight  again.  Your  Xapoleon 
is  flung  out,  at  last,  to  St.  Helena ;  the  latter  end  of  him 
sternly  compensating  the  beginning.  The  Bucanier  strikes 
down  a  man,  a  hundred  or  a  million  men  :  but  what  profits  it  ? 
He  has  one  enemy  never  to  be  struck  down  ;  nay  two  enemies  : 
Mankind  and  the  Maker  of  Men.  On  the  great  scale  or  on  the 
small,  in  fighting  of  men  or  fighting  of  difficulties,  I  will  not 
embark  my  venture  with  Howel  Davies  :  it  is  not  the  Bucanier, 
it  is  the  Hero  only  that  can  gain  victory,  that  can  do  more 
than  seem  to  succeed.  These  things  will  deserve  meditating ; 
for  they  apply  to  all  battle  and  soldiership,  all  struggle  and 
effort  whatsoever  in  this  Fight  of  Life.  It  is  a  poor  Gospel, 
Cash-Gospel  or  whatever  name  it  have,  that  does  not,  with  clear 
tone,  uncontradictable,  carrying  conviction  to  all  hearts,  for- 
ever keep  men  in  mind  of  these  things. 

Unhappily,  my  indomitable  friend  Plugson  of  Undershot 
has,  in  a  great  degree,  forgotten  them  ;  —  as,  alas,  all  the  world 
has  ;  as,  alas,  our  very  Dukes  and  Soul-Overseers  have,  whose 
special  trade  it  was  to  remember  them  !  Hence  these  tears.  — 
Plugson,  who  has  indomitably  spun  Cotton  merely  to  gain 
thousands  of  pounds,  I  have  to  call  as  yet  a  Bucanier  and 
Choctaw ;  till  there  come  something  better,  still  more  indomi- 
table from  him.  His  hundred  Thousand-pound  Notes,  if  there 
be  nothing  other,  are  to  me  but  as  the  hundred  Scalps  in  a 
Choctaw  wigwam.  The  blind  Plugson  :  he  was  a  Captain  of 
Industry,  born  member  of  the  Ultimate  genuine  Aristocracy 
of  this  Universe,  could  he  have  known  it !  These  thousand 
men  that  span  and  toiled  round  him,  they  were  a  regiment 
whom  he  had  enlisted,  man  by  man  ;  to  make  war  on  a  very 
genuine  enemy :  Bareness  of  back,  and  disobedient  Cotton- 
tibre,  which  will  not,  unless  forced  to  it,  consent  to  cover  bare 


CHAP.  X.  PLUGSON  OF  UNDERSHOT.  187 

backs.     Here  is  a  most  genuine  enemy ;  over  whom  all  crea- 
tures will  wish  him  victory.     He  enlisted  his  thousand  men  ; 
said  to  them,  "  Come,  brothers,  let  us  have  a  dash  at  Cotton !  " 
They  follow  with  cheerful  shout ;   they  gain  such  a  victory 
over  Cotton  as  the  Earth  has  to  admire  and  clap  hands  at : 
but,  alas,  it  is  yet  only  of  the  Bucanier  or  Choctaw  sort,  —  as 
good  as  no  victory  !    Foolish  Flugson  of  St.  Dolly  Undershot : 
does  he  hope  to  become  illustrious  by  hanging  up  the  scalps 
in  his  wigwam,  the  hundred  thousands  at   his  banker's,  and 
sayiug,  Behold  my  scalps  ?    Why,  Plugson,  even  thy  own  host  U 
is  all  in  mutiny  :  Cotton  is  conquered  ;  but  the  "  bare  backs  "  A 
—  are   worse   covered  than  ever !    Indomitable  Plugson,  thou  (I 
must  cease  to  be  a  Choctaw ;  thou  and  others  ;  thou  thyself, 
if  no  other ! 

Did  William  the  Norman  Bastard,  or  any  of  his  Taillefers, 
Ironcutters,  manage  so  ?  Ironcutter,  at  the  end  of  the  campaign, 
did  not  turn  off  his  thousand  fighters,  but  said  to  them :  "  Noble 
fighters,  this  is  the  land  we  have  gained ;  be  I  Lord  in  it,  — 
what  we  will  call  Law-ward,  maintainer  and  keeper  of  Heaven's 
Laws :  be  I  Law-ward,  or  in  brief  orthoepy  Lord  in  it,  and  be 
}re  Loyal  Men  around  me  in  it ;  and  we  will  stand  by  one 
another,  as  soldiers  round  a  captain,  for  again  we  shall  have 
need  of  one  another !  "  Plugson,  bucanier-like,  says  to  them : 
"  Noble  spinners,  this  is  the  Hundred  Thousand  we  have  / 
gained,  wherein  I  mean  to  dwell  and  plant  vineyards  ;  the  ( 
hundred  thousand  is  mine,  the  three  and  sixpence  daily  was 
yours :  adieu,  noble  spinners  ;  drink  my  health  with  this  groat 
each,  which  I  give  you  over  and  above  ! "  The  entirely  unjust 
Captain  of  Industry,  say  I ;  not  Chevalier,  but  Bucanier ! 
"  Commercial  Law  "  does  indeed  acquit  him ;  asks,  with  wide 
eyes,  What  else  ?  So  too  Howel  Davies  asks,  Was  it  not 
according  to  the  strictest  Bucanier  Custom  ?  Did  I  depart  ' 
in  any  jot  or  tittle  from  the  Laws  of  the  Bucaniers  ? 

After  all,  money,  as  they  say.  is  miraculous.  Plugson  wanted 
victory ;  as  Chevaliers  and  Bueaniers,  and  all  men  alike  do. 
He  found  money  recognized,  by  the  whole  world  with  one 
assent,  as  the  true  symbol,  exact  equivalent  and  synonym  of 
victory  ;  — and  here  we  have  him,  a  gri  in -browed,  indomitable 


188  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  IIL 

Bucanier,  coining  home  to  us  with  a  "  victory,"  which  the  whole 
world  is  ceasing  to  clap  hands  at !  The  whole  world,  taught 
somewhat  impressively,  is  beginning  to  recognize  that  such 
victory  is  but  half  a  victory  ;  and  that  now,  if  it  please  the 
Powers,  we  must  —  have  the  other  half  ! 

Money  is  miraculous.  What  miraculous  facilities  has  it 
yielded,  will  it  yield  us ;  but  also  what  never-imagined  con- 
fusions, obscurations  has  it  brought  in  ;  down  almost  to  total 
extinction  of  the  moral-sense  in  large  masses  of  mankind  ! 
"  Protection  of  property,"  of  what  is  "  mine,"  means  with  most 
men  protection  of  money,  —  the  thing  which,  had  I  a  thousand 
padlocks  over  it,  is  least  of  all  mine;  is,  in  a  manner,  scarcely 
worth  calling  mine  !  The  symbol  shall  be  held  sacred,  defended 
everywhere  with  tipstaves,  ropes  and  gibbets  ;  the  thing  signi- 
fied shall  be  composedly  cast  to  the  dogs.  A  human  being 
who  has  worked  with  human  beings  clears  all  scores  with  them, 
cuts  himself  with  triumphant  completeness  forever  loose  from 
them,  by  paying  down  certain  shillings  and  pounds.  Was  it 
not  the  wages  I  promised  you  ?  There  they  are,  to  the  last 
sixpence,  —  according  to  the  Laws  of  the  Bucaniers  !  —  Yes, 
indeed ;  —  and,  at  such  times,  it  becomes  imperatively  neces- 
sary to  ask  all  persons,  bucaniers  and  others,  Whether  these 
same  respectable  Laws  of  the  Bucaniers  are  written  on  God's 
eternal  Heavens  at  all,  on  the  inner  Heart  of  Man  at  all ;  or 
on  the  respectable  Bucanier  Log-book  merely,  for  the  conven- 
ience of  bucaniering  merely  ?  What  a  question  ;  —  whereat 
Westminster  Hall  shudders  to  its  driest  parchment;  and  on 
ihe  dead  wigs  each  particular  horse-hair  stands  on  end ! 

The  Laws  of  Laissez-faire,  O  Westminster,  the  laws  of 
industrial  Captain  and  industrial  Soldier,  how  much  more  of 
idle  Captain  and  industrial  Soldier,  will  need  to  be  remodelled, 
and  modified,  and  rectified  in  a  hundred  and  a  hundred  ways,  — 
and  not  in  the  Sliding-scale  direction,  but  in  the  totally  opposite 
one !  With  two  million  industrial  Soldiers  already  sitting  in 
Bastilles,  and  five  million  pining  on  potatoes,  methinks  West- 
minster cannot  begin  too  soon  !  — A  man  has  other  obligations 
laid  on  him,  in  God's  Universe,  than  the  payment  of  cash : 
these  also  Westminster,  if  it  will  continue  to  exist  and  have 


CHAP.  X.  PLUGSON  OF  UNDERSHOT.  189 

board-wages,  must  contrive  to  take  some  charge  of :  —  by  West- 
minster or  by  another,  they  must  and  will  be  taken  charge  of ; 
be,  with  whatever  difficulty,  got  articulated,  got  enforced,  and 
to  a  certain  approximate  extent  put  in  practice.  And,  as  I  say, 
it  cannot  be  too  soon !  For  Mammonism,  left  to  itself,  has 
become  Midas-eared ;  and  with  all  its  gold  mountains,  sits 
starving  for  want  of  bread :  and  Dilettantism  with  its  par- 
tridge-nets, in  this  extremely  earnest  Universe  of  ours,  is  play- 
ing somewhat  too  high  a  game.  "  A  man  by  the  very  look  of 
him  promises  so  much :  "  yes ;  and  by  the  rent-roll  of  him  doea 
he  promise  nothing  ?  — 

Alas,  what  a  business  will  this  be,  which  our  Continental 
friends,  groping  this  long  while  somewhat  absurdly  about  it 
and  about  it,  call  "  Organization  of  Labor  ;  "  —  which  must  be 
taken  out  of  the  hands  of  absurd  windy  persons,  and  put  into 
the  hands  of  wise,  laborious,  modest  and  valiant-  men,  to  begin 
with  it  straightway ;  to  proceed  with  it,  and  succeed  in  it  more 
and  more,  if  Europe,  at  any  rate  if  England,  is  to  continue 
habitable  much  longer.  Looking  at  the  kind  of  most  noble 
Corn-Law  Dukes  or  Practical  Duces  we  have,  and  also  of  right 
reverend  Soul-Overseers,  Christian  Spiritual  Duces  "  on  a  mini- 
mum of  four  thousand  five  hundred,"  one's  hopes  are  a  little 
chilled.  Courage,  nevertheless  ;  there  are  many  brave  men  in 
England  !  My  indomitable  Plugson,  —  nay  is  there  not  even 
in  thee  gome  hope  ?  Thou  art  hitherto  a  Bucanier,  as  it  was 
written  and  prescribed  for  thee  by  an  evil  world :  but  in  that 
grim  brow,  in  that  indomitable  heart  which  can  conquer  Cotton, 
do  there  not  perhaps  lie  other  ten-times  nobler  conquests  9 


190  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  in. 


CHAPTEE  XL 

LABOR. 

FOR  there  is  a  perennial  nobleness,  and  even  sacredness,  in 
Work.  Were  he  never  so  benighted,  forgetful  of  his  high 
calling,  there  is  always  hope  in  a  man  that  actually  and -ear- 
nestly works :  in  Idleness  alone  is  there  perpetual  despair. 
Work,  never  so  mammonish,  mean,  is  in  communication  with 
Nature ;  the  real  desire  to  get  Work  done  will  itself  lead  one 
more  and  more  to  truth,  to  Nature's  appointments  and  regula- 
tions, which  are  truth. 

The  latest  Gospel  in  this  world  is,  Know  thy  work  and  do  it. 
"  Know  thyself :  "  long  enough  has  that  poor  "  self  "  of  thine 
tormented  thee  ;  thou  wilt  never  get  to  "  know  "  it,  I  believe  ! 
Think  it  not  thy  business,  this  of  knowing  thyself ;  thou  art 
an  unknowable  individual :  know  what  thou  canst  work  at ; 
and  work  at  it,  like  a  Hercules  !  That  will  be  thy  better 
plan. 

It  has  been  written,  "  an  endless  significance  lies  in  Work ; " 
a  man  perfects  himself  by  working.  Foul  jungles  are  cleared 
away,  fair  seedfields  rise  instead,  and  stately  cities  ;  and  withal 
the  man  himself  first  ceases  to  be  a  jungle  and  foul  unwhole- 
some desert  thereby.  Consider  how,  even  in  the  meanest  sorts 
of  Labor,  the  whole  soul  of  a  man  is  composed  into  a  kind  of 
real  harmony,  the  instant  he  sets  himself  to  work  !  Doubt, 
Desire,  Sorrow,  Remorse,  Indignation,  Despair  itself,  all  those 
like  hell-dogs  lie  beleaguering  the  soul  of  the  poor  day-worker, 
as  of  every  man  :  but  he  bends  himself  with  free  valor  against 
his  task,  and  all  these  are  stilled,  all  these  shrink  murmuring 
far  off  into  their  caves.  The  man  is  now  a  man.  The  blessed 
glow  of  Labor  in  him,  is  it  not  as  purifying  fire,  wherein  all 
poison  is  burnt  up,  and  of  sour  smoke  itself  there  is  made 
bright  blessed  flame  ! 


CHAP.  XI.  LABOR.  191 

Destiny,  on  the  whole,  has  no  other  way  of  cultivating  us. 
A  formless  Chaos,  once  set  it  revolving,  grows  round  and  ever 
rounder;  ranges  itself,  by  mere  force  of  gravity,  into  strata, 
spherical  courses  ;  is  no  longer  a  Chaos,  but  a  round  compacted 
World.  What  would  become  of  the  Earth,  did  she  cease  to 
revolve  ?  In  the  poor  old  Earth,  so  long  as  she  revolves,  all 
inequalities,  irregularities  disperse  themselves  ;  all  irregulari- 
ties are  incessantly  becoming  regular.  Hast  thou  looked  on 
the  Potter's  wheel,  —  one  of  the  venerablest  objects;  old  as 
the  Prophet  Ezekiel  and  far  older  ?  Rude  lumps  of  clay,  how 
they  spin  themselves  up,  by  mere  quick  whirling,  into  beauti- 
ful circular  dishes.  And  fancy  the  most  assiduous  Potter,  but 
without  his  wheel ;  reduced  to  make  dishes,  or  rather  amor- 
phous botches,  by  mere  kneading  and  baking !  Even  such  a 
Potter  were  Destiny,  with  a  human  soul  that  would  rest  and 
lie  at  ease,  that  would  not  work  and  spin !  Of  an  idle  un- 
revolving  man  the  kindest  Destiny,  like  the  most  assiduous 
Potter  without  wheel,  can  bake  and  knead  nothing  other  than 
a  botch  ;  let  her  spend  on  him  what  expensive  coloring,  what 
gilding  and  enamelling  she  will,  he  is  but  a  botch.  Not  a  dish  ; 
no,  a  bulging,  kneaded,  crooked,  shambling,  squint-cornered, 
amorphous  botch,  —  a  mere  enamelled  vessel  of  dishonor  !  Let 
the  idle  think  of  this. 

Blessed  is  he  who  has  found  his  work ;  let  him  ask  no  other 
blessedness.  He  has  a  work,  a  life-purpose ;  he  has  found  it, 
and  will  follow  it !  How,  as  a  free-flowing  channel,  dug  and 
torn  by  noble  force  through  the  sour  mud-swamp  of  one's  ex- 
istence, like  an  ever-deepening  river  there,  it  runs  and  flows ;  — 
draining  off  the  sour  festering  water,  gradually  from  the  root 
of  the  remotest  grass-blade  ;  making,  instead  of  pestilential 
swamp,  a  green  fruitful  meadow  with  its  clear-flowing  stream. 
How  blessed  for  the  meadow  itself,  let  the  stream  and  its  value 
be  great  or  small !  Labor  is  Life  :  from  the  inmost  heart  of 
the  Worker  rises  his  god-given  Force,  the  sacred  celestial  Life- 
essence  breathed  into  him  by  Almighty  God ;  from  his  inmost 
heart  awakens  him  to  all  nobleness,  —  to  all  knowledge,  "  self- 
knowledge"  and  much  else,  so  soon  as  Work  fitly  begins. 
Knowledge  ?  The  knowledge  that  will  hold  good  in  working. 


192  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOB  IIL 

cleave  thou  to  that ;  for  Nature  herself  accredits  that,  says 
Yea  to  that.  Properly  thou  hast  no  other  knowledge  but 
what  thou  hast  got  by  working  :  the  rest  is  yet  all  a  hypothesis 
of  knowledge ;  a  thing  to  be  argued  of  in  schools,  a  thing  float- 
ing in  the  clouds,  in  endless  logic-vortices,  till  we  try  it  and 
fix  it.  "  Doubt,  of  whatever  kind,  can  be  ended  by  Action 
alone." 

And  again,  hast  thou  valued  Patience,  Courage,  Perseverance, 
Openness  to  light ;  readiness  to  own  thyself  mistaken,  to  do 
better  next  time  ?  All  these,  all  virtues,  in  wrestling  with  the 
dim  brute  Powers  of  Fact,  in  ordering  of  thy  fellows  in  such 
wrestle,  there  and  elsewhere  not  at  all,  thou  wilt  continually 
learn.  Set  down  a  brave  Sir  Christopher  in  the  middle  of  black 
ruined  Stone-heaps,  of  foolish  unarchitectuval  Bishops,  red-tape 
Officials,  idle  Nell-Gwynn  Defenders  of  the  Faith;  and  see 
whether  he  will  ever  raise  a  Paul's  Cathedral  out  of  all  that, 
yea  or  no !  Rough,  rude,  contradictory  are  all  things  and  per- 
sons, from  the  mutinous  masons  and  Irish  hodmen,  up  to  the 
idle  Nell-Gwynn  Defenders,  to  blustering  red-tape  Officials, 
foolish  unarchitectural  Bishops.  All  these  things  and  persons 
are  there  not  for  Christopher's  sake  and  his  Cathedral's  ;  they 
are  there  for  their  own  sake  mainly !  Christopher  will  have 
to  conquer  and  constrain  all  these,  —  if  he  be  able.  All  these 
are  against  him.  Equitable  Nature  herself,  who  carries  her 
mathematics  and  architectonics  not  on  the  face  of  her,  but  deep 
in  the  hidden  heart  of  her,  —  Nature  herself  is  but  partially  for 
him  ;  will  be  wholly  against  him,  if  he  constrain  her  not !  His 
very  money,  where  is  it  to  come  from  ?  The  pious  munificence 
of  England  lies  far-scattered,  distant,  unable  to  speak,  and  say, 
"  I  am  here ; "  —  must  be  spoken  to  before  it  can  speak.  Pious 
munificence,  and  all  help,  is  so  silent,  invisible  like  the  gods ; 
impediment,  contradictions  manifold  are  so  loud  and  near ! 
0  brave  Sir  Christopher,  trust  thou  in  those  notwithstanding, 
and  front  all  these  ;  understand  all  these  ;  by  valiant  patience, 
noble  effort,  insight,  by  man's  strength,  vanquish  and  compel 
all  these,  —  and,  on  the  whole,  strike  down  victoriously  the 
last  topstgne  of  that  Paul's  Edifice  ;  thy  monument  for  certain 


CHAP.  XI.  LABOR.  193 

centuries,  the  stamp  "  Great  Man  "  impressed  very  legibly  on 
Portland-stone  there  !  — 

Yes,  all  manner  of  help,  and  pious  response  from  Men  or 
Nature,  is  always  what  we  call  silent ;  cannot  speak  or  come 
to  light,  till  it  be  seen,  till  it  be  spoken  to.  Every  noble  work 
is  at  first  "  impossible."  In  very  truth,  for  every  noble  work 
the  possibilities  will  lie  diffused  through  Immensity  ;  inarticu- 
late, undiscoverable  except  to  faith.  Like  Gideon  thou  shalt 
spread  out  thy  fleece  at  the  door  of  thy  tent;  see  whether 
under  the  wide  arch  of  Heaven  there  be  any  bounteous  mois- 
ture, or  none.  Thy  heart  and  life-purpose  shall  be  as  a  mirac- 
ulous Gideon's  fleece,  spread  out  in  silent  appeal  to  Heaven ; 
and  from  the  kind  Immensities,  what  from  the  poor  unkind 
Localities  and  town  and  country  Parishes  there  never  could, 
blessed  dew-moisture  to  suffice  thee  shall  have  fallen ! 

Work  is  of  a  religious  nature :  —  work  is  of  a  brave  nature , 
which  it  is  the  aim  of  all  religion  to  be.  All  work  of  man  is 
as  the  swimmer's :  a  waste  ocean  threatens  to  devour  him  ; 
if  he  front  it  not  bravely,  it  will  keep  its  word.  By  incessant 
wise  defiance  of  it,  lusty  rebuke  and  buffet  of  it,  behold  how 
it  loyally  supports  him,  bears  him  as  its  conqueror  along. 
"  It  is  so,"  says  Goethe,  "  with  all  things  that  man  undertakes 
in  this  world." 

Brave  Sea-captain,  Norse  Sea-king,  —  Columbus,  my  hero, 
royalest  Sea-king  of  all !  it  is  no  friendly  environment  this  of 
thine,  in  the  waste  deep  waters  ;  around  thee  mutinous  dis- 
couraged souls,  behind  thee  disgrace  and  ruin,  before  thee  the 
impenetrated  veil  of  Night.  Brother,  these  wild  water-moun- 
tains, bounding  from  their  deep  bases  (ten  miles  deep,  I  am 
told),  are  not  entirely  there  on  thy  behalf !  Meseems  they  have 
other  work  than  floating  thee  forward  :  —  and  the  huge  Winds, 
that  sweep  from  Ursa  Major  to  the  Tropics  and  Equators, 
dancing  their  giant-waltz  through  the  kingdoms  of  Chaos  and 
Immensity,  they  care  little  about  filling  rightly  or  fillhig 
wrongly  the  small  shoulder-of-mutton  sails  in  this  cockle-skiff 
of  thine !  Thou  art  not  among  articulate-speaking  friends, 
my  brother ;  thou  art  among  immeasurable  dumb  monsters, 
tumbling,  howling  wide  as  the  world  here.  Secret,  far  off. 

VOL.    XII.  13 


194  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  III. 

invisible  to  all  hearts  but  thine,  there  lies  a  help  in  them  •  see 
how  thou  wilt  get  at  that.  Patiently  thou  wilt  wait  till  the 
mad  Southwester  spend  itself,  saving  thyself  by  dexterous 
science  of  defence,  the  while  :  valiantly,  with  swift  decision, 
wilt  thou  strike  in,  when  the  favoring  East,  the  Possible, 
springs  up.  Mutiny  of  men  thou  wilt  sternly  repress ;  weak- 
ness, despondency,  thou  wilt  cheerily  encourage  :  thou  wilt 
swallow  down  complaint,  unreason,  weariness,  weakness  of 
others  and  thyself ;  —  how  much  wilt  thou  swallow  down  ! 
There  shall  be  a  depth  of  Silence  in  thee,  deeper  than  this  Sea, 
which  is  but  ten  miles  deep  :  a  Silence  unsoundable  ;  known 
to  God  only.  Thou  shalt  be  a  Great  Man.  Yes,  my  World- 
Soldier,  thou  of  the  World  Marine-service,  —  thou  wilt  have 
to  be  greater  than  this  tumultuous  unmeasured  World  here 
round  thee  is  :  thou,  in  thy  strong  soul,  as  with  wrestler's  arms, 
shalt  embrace  it,  harness  it  down ;  and  make  it  bear  thee  on,  — 
to  new  Americas,  or  whither  God  wills  ! 


CHAPTER  XII. 

REWARD. 

"  RELIGION,"  I  said ;  for,  properly  speaking,  all  true  Work 
is  Religion  :  and  whatsoever  Religion  is  not  Work  may  go  and 
dwell  among  the  Brahmins,  Antinomians,  Spinning  Dervishes, 
or  where  it  will  ;  with  me  it  shall  have  no  harbor.  Admirable 
was  that  of  the  old  Monks,  "  Laborare  est  Orare,  Work  is 
Worship." 

Older  than  all  preached  Gospels  was  this  unpreached,  inar- 
ticulate, but  ineradicable,  forever-enduring  Gospel :  Work,  and 
therein  have  well-being.  Man,  Son  of  Earth  and  of  Heaven, 
lies  there  not,  in  the  innermost  heart  of  thee,  a  Spirit  of  active 
Method,  a  Force  for  Work ;  —  and  burns  like  a  painfully 
smouldering  fire,  giving  thee  no  rest  till  thou  unfold  it,  till 
thou  write  it  down  in  beneficent  Facts  around  thee  !  What  is 
immethodic,  waste,  thou  shalt  make  methodic,  regulated,  ara- 
ble ;  obedient  and  productive  to  thee.  Wheresoever  thou  find- 


CHAP.  XII.  REWARD.  195 

est  Disorder,  there  is  thy  eternal  enemy  ;  attack  him  swiftly, 
subdue  him ;  make  Order  of  him,  the  subject  not  of  Chaos,  but 
of  Intelligence,  Divinity  and  Thee !  The  thistle  that  grows  in 
thy  path,  dig  it  out,  that  a  blade  of  useful  grass,  a  drop  of  nour- 
ishing milk,  may  grow  there  instead.  The  waste  oottou-shrub, 
gather  its  waste  white  down,  spin  it,  weave  it ;  that,  in  place 
of  idle  litter,  there  may  be  folded  webs,  and  the  naked  skin  of 
man  be  covered. 

Hut  above  all,  where  thou  tindest  Ignorance,  Stupidity, 
Brute-inindedness,  —  yes,  there,  with  or  without  Church-tithes 
and  Shovel-hat,  with  or  without  Talfourd-Mahon  Copyrights, 
or  were  it  with  mere  dungeons  and  gibbets  and  crosses,  attack 
it,  I  say  ;  smite  it  wisely,  unweariedly,  and  rest  not  while 
thou  livest  and  it  lives  ;  but  smite,  smite,  in  the  name  of  God ! 
The  Highest  God,  as  I  understand  it,  does  audibly  so  command 
thee ;  still  audibly,  if  thou  have  ears  to  hear.  He,  even  He, 
with  his  wispoken  voice,  awfuler  than  any  Sinai  thunders  or 
syllabled  speech  of  Whirlwinds ;  for  the  SILENCE  of  deep  Eter- 
nities, of  Worlds  from  beyond  the  morning-stars,  does  it  not 
speak  to  thee  ?  The  unborn  Ages  ;  the  old  Graves,  with  their 
long-mouldering  dust,  the  very  tears  that  wetted  it  now  all 
dry,  —  do  not  these  speak  to  thee,  what  ear  hath  not  heard  ? 
The  deep  Death-kingdoms,  the  Stars  in  their  never-resting 
courses,  all  Space  and  all  Time,  proclaim  it  to  thee  in  continual 
silent  admonition.  Thou  too,  if  ever  man  should,  shalt  work 
while  it  is  called  To-day.  For  the  Night  cometh,  wherein  no 
man  can  work. 

All  true  Work  is  sacred ;  in  all  true  Work,  were  it  but  true 
hand-lal)or,  there  is  something  of  divineness.  Labor,  wide  as 
the  Earth,  has  its  summit  in  Heaven.  Sweat  of  the  brow  ; 
and  up  from  that  to  sweat  of  the  brain,  sweat  of  the  heart ; 
which  includes  all  Kepler  calculations,  Newton  meditations, 
all  Sciences,  all  spoken  Epics,  all  acted  Heroisms,  Martyr- 
doms,—  up  to  that  "Agony  of  bloody  sweat,"  which  all  men 
have  called  divine  !  0  brother,  if  this  is  not  "  worship,"  then 
I  say,  the  more  pity  for  worship ;  for  this  is  the  noblest  thing 
yet  discovered  under  God's  sky.  Who  art  thou  that  complain- 
est  of  thy  life  of  toil  ?  Complain  not.  Look  up,  my  wearied 


196  PAST   AND   PRESENT.  BOOK  III. 

brother  ;  see  thy  fellow  Workmen  there,  in  God's  Eternity ; 
surviving  there,  they  alone  surviving :  sacred  Band  of  the 
Immortals,  celestial  Body-guard  of  the  Empire  of  Mankind. 
Even  in  the  weak  Human  Memory  they  survive  so  long,  as 
saints,  as  heroes,  as  gods  ;  they  alone  surviving ;  peopling, 
they  alone,  the  unmeasured  solitudes  of  Time !  To  thee 
Heaven,  though  severe,  is  not  unkind ;  Heaven  is  kind,  —  as  a 
noble  Mother ;  as  that  Spartan  Mother,  saying  while  she  gave 
her  son  his  shield,  "  With  it,  my  son,  or  upon  it ! "  Thou  too 
shalt  return  home  in  honor ;  to  thy  far-distant  Home,  in  honor  ; 
doubt  it  not,  —  if  in  the  battle  thou  keep  thy  shield !  Thou,  in 
the  Eternities  and  deepest  Death-kingdoms,  art  not  an  alien ; 
thou  everywhere  art  av  denizen !  Complain  not ;  the  very 
Spartans  did  not  complain. 

And  who  art  thou  that  braggest  of  thy  life  of  Idleness; 
complacently  showest  thy  bright  gilt  equipages  ;  sumptuous 
cushions  ;  appliances  for  folding  of  the  hands  to  mere  sleep  ? 
Looking  up,  looking  down,  around,  behind  or  before,  discernest 
thou,  if  it  be  not  in  Mayfair  alone,  any  idle  hero,  saint,  god, 
or  even  devil  ?  Not  a  vestige  of  one.  In  the  Heavens,  in  the 
Earth,  in  the  Waters  under  the  Earth,  is  none  like  unto  thee. 
Thou  art  an  original  figure  in  this  Creation ;  a  denizen  in  May- 
fair  alone,  in  this  extraordinary  Century  or  Half-Century  alone ! 
One  monster  there  is  in  the  world :  the  idle  man.  What  is  his 
"  Keligion  "  ?  That  Nature  is  a  Phantasm,  where  cunning  beg- 
gary or  thievery  may  sometimes  find  good  victual.  That  God  is 
a  lie ;  and  that  Man  and  his  Life  are  a  lie.  —  Alas,  alas,  who  of 
us  is  there  that  can  say,  I  have  worked  ?  The  faithfulest  of  us 
are  unprofitable  servants ;  the  faithfulest  of  us  know  that  best. 
The  faithfulest  of  us  may  say,  with  sad  and  true  old  Samuel, 
"  Much  of  my  life  has  been  trifled  away  !  "  But  he  that  has, 
and  except  "  on  public  occasions  "  professes  to  have,  no  function 
but  that  of  going  idle  in  a  graceful  or  graceless  manner ;  and 
of  begetting  sons  to  go  idle  ;  and  to  address  Chief  Spinners  and 
Diggers  who  at  least  are  spinning  and  digging,  "Ye  scandalous 
persons  who  produce  too  much  "  —  My  Corn-Law  friends, 
on  what  imaginary  still  richer  Eldorados,  and  true  iron-spikes 
with  law  of  gravitation,  are  ye  rushing ! 


CHAP.  XII.  REWARD.  197 

As  to  the  Wages  of  Work  there  might  innumerable  things 
be  said ;  there  will  and  must  yet  innumerable  things  be  said 
and  spoken,  in  St.  Stephen's  and  out  of  St.  Stephen's ;  and 
gradually  not  a  few  things  be  ascertained  and  written,  on  Law- 
parchment,  concerning  this  very  matter  :  —  "  Fair  day's-wages 
for  a  fair  day's-work  "  is  the  most  uuref usable  demand  !  Money- 
wages  "  to  the  extent  of  keeping  your  worker  alive  that  he 
may  work  more ;  "  these,  unless  you  mean  to  dismiss  him 
straightway  out  of  this  world,  are  indispensable  alike  to  the 
noblest  Worker  and  to  the  least  noble  ! 

One  thing  only  I  will  say  here,  in  special  reference  to  the 
former  class,  the  noble  and  noblest ;  but  throwing  light  on  all 
the  other  classes  and  their  arrangements  of  this  difficult  mat- 
ter :  The  "  wages  "  of  every  noble  Work  do  yet  lie  in  Heaven 
or  else  Nowhere.  Not  in  Bank-of-England  bills,  in  Owen's 
Labor-bank,  or  any  the  most  improved  establishment  of  bank- 
ing and  money-changing,  needest  thou,  heroic  soul,  present  thy 
account  of  earnings.  Human  banks  and  labor-banks  know 
thee  not ;  or  know  thee  after  generations  and  centuries  have 
passed  away,  and  thou  art  clean  gone  from  "  rewarding,"  —  all 
manner  of  bank-drafts,  shop-tills,  and  Downing-street  Ex- 
chequers lying  very  invisible,  so  far  from  thee !  Nay,  at  bot- 
tom, dost  thou  need  any  reward  ?  Was  it  thy  aim  and  life- 
purpose  to  be  filled  with  good  things  for  thy  heroism ;  to  have 
a  life  of  pomp  and  ease,  and  be  what  men  call  "  happy,"  in  this 
world,  or  in  any  other  world  ?  I  answer  for  thee  deliberately, 
No.  The  whole  spiritual  secret  of  the  new  epoch  lies  in  this, 
that  thou  canst  answer  for  thyself,  with  thy  whole  clearness  of 
head  and  heart,  deliberately,  No ! 

My  brother,  the  brave  man  has  to  give  his  Life  away.  Give 
it,  I  advise  thee  ;  —  thou  dost  not  expect  to  sell  thy  Life  in  an 
adequate  manner  ?  What  price,  for  example,  would  content 
thee?  The  just  price  of  thy  LIFE  to  thee,  —  why,  God's  en- 
tire Creation  to  thyself,  the  whole  Universe  of  Space,  the  whole 
Eternity  of  Time,  and  what  they  hold  :  that  is  the  price  which 
would  content  thee  ;  that,  and  if  thou  wilt  be  candid,  nothing 
short  of  that !  It  is  thy  all :  and  for  it  thou  wouldst  have  all. 
Thou  art  an  unreasonable  mortal ;  —  or  rather  thou  art  a  poor 


198  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  III. 

infinite  mortal,  who,  in  thy  narrow  clay-prison  here,  seemest  so 
unreasonable  !  Thou  wilt  never  sell  thy  Life,  or  any  part  of 
thy  Life,  in  a  satisfactory  manner.  Give  it,  like  a  royal  heart ; 
let  the  price  be  Nothing :  thou  hast  then,  in  a  certain  sense, 
got  All  for  it !  The  heroic  man  —  and  is  not  every  man,  God 
de  thanked,  a  potential  hero  ?  —  has  to  do  so,  in  all  times  and 
circumstances.  In  the  most  heroic  age,  as  in  the  most  un- 
heroic,  he  will  have  to  say,  as  Burns  said  proudly  and  humbly 
of  his  little  Scottish  Songs,  little  dewdrops  of  Celestial  Melody 
in  an  age  when  so  much  was  unmelodious  :  "  By  Heaven,  they 
shall  either  be  invaluable  or  of  no  value  ;  I  do  not  need  your 
guineas  for  them ! "  It  is  an  element  which  should,  and  must, 
enter  deeply  into  all  settlements  of  wages  here  below.  They 
never  will  be  "  satisfactory  "  otherwise  ;  they  cannot,  0  Mam- 
mon Gospel,  they  never  can  !  Money  for  my  little  piece  of 
work  "  to  the  extent  that  will  allow  me  to  keep  working ;  " 
yes,  this,  —  unless  you  mean  that  I  shall  go  my  ways  before 
the  work  is  all  taken  out  of  me  :  but  as  to  "  wages  "  —  ! 

On  the  whole,  we  do  entirely  agree  with  those  old  Monks, 
Laborare  est  Orare.  In  a  thousand  senses,  from  one  end  of  it 
to  the  other,  true  Work  is  Worship.  He  that  works,  whatso- 
ever be  his  work,  he  bodies  forth  the  form  of  Things  Unseen ; 
a  small  Poet  every  Worker  is.  The  idea,  were  it  but  of  his  poor 
Delf  Platter,  how  much  more  of  his  Epic  Poem,  is  as  yet 
"seen,"  half -seen,  only  by  himself ;  to  all  others  it  is  a  thing 
unseen,  impossible  ;  to  Nature  herself  it  is  a  thing  unseen,  a 
thing  which  never  hitherto  was  ;  —  very  "  impossible,"  for  it 
is  as  yet  a  No-thing  !  The  Unseen  Powers  had  need  to  watch 
over  such  a  man  ;  he  works  in  and  for  the  Unseen.  Alas,  if 
he  look  to  the  Seen  Powers  only,  he  may  as  well  quit  the  busi- 
ness ;  his  No-thing  will  never  rightly  issue  as  a  Thing,  but  as 
a  Deceptivity,  a  Sham-thing,  —  which  it  had  better  not  do  ! 

Thy  No-thing  of  an  Intended  Poem,  O  Poet  who  hast  looked 
merely  to  reviewers,  copyrights,  booksellers,  popularities,  be- 
hold it  has  not  yet  become  a  Thing ;  for  the  truth  is  not  in  it ! 
Though  printed,  hot-pressed,  reviewed,  celebrated,  sold  to  the 
twentieth  edition :  what  is  all  that  ?  The  Thing,  in  philo- 
sophical uncommercial  language,  is  still  a  No-thing,  mostly 


CHAP.  XII.  REWARD.  199 

semblance,  and  deception  of  the  sight ;  —  benign  Oblivion 
incessantly  gnawing  at  it,  impatient  till  Chaos,  to  which  it 
belongs,  do  reabsorb  it !  — 

He  who  takes  not  counsel  of  the  Unseen  and  Silent,  from 
him  will  never  come  real  visibility  and  speech.  Thou  must 
descend  to  the  Mothers,  to  the  Manes,  and  Hercules-like  long 
suffer  and  labor  there,  wouldst  thou  emerge  with  victory  into 
the  sunlight.  As  in  battle  and  the  shock  of  war,  —  for  is  not 
this  a  battle  ?  —  thou  too  shalt  fear  no  pain  or  death,  shalt 
love  no  ease  or  1  if e  ;  the  voice  of  festive  Lubberlands,  the 
noise  of  greedy  Acheron  shall  alike  lie  silent  under  thy  victo- 
rious feet.  Thy  work,  like  Dante's,  shall  "make  thee  lean 
for  many  years."  The  world  and  its  wages,  its  criticisms, 
counsels,  helps,  impediments,  shall  be  as  a  waste  ocean-flood ; 
the  chaos  through  which  thou  art  to  swim  and  sail.  Not  the 
waste  waves  and  their  weedy  gulf-streams,  shalt  thou  take  for 
guidance  :  thy  star  alone,  —  "  Se  tu  segui  tua  stella  !  "  Thy 
star  alone,  now  clear-beaming  over  Chaos,  nay  now  by  fits 
gone  out,  disastrously  eclipsed :  this  only  shalt  thou  strive 
to  follow.  Oh,  it  is  a  business,  as  I  fancy,  that  of  weltering 
your  way  through  Chaos  and  the  murk  of  Hell !  Green-eyed 
dragons  watching  you,  three-headed  Cerberuses,  —  not  without 
sympathy  of  their  sort !  "  Eccovi  V  uom  ch1  e  stnto  all'  Inferno" 
For  in  fine,  as  Poet  Dryden  says,  you  do  walk  hand  in  hand 
with  sheer  Madness,  all  the  way,  —  who  is  by  no  means  pleas- 
ant company  !  You  look  fixedly  into  Madness,  and  her  un- 
discovered, boundless,  bottomless  Night-empire  ;  that  you  may 
extort  new  Wisdom  out  of  it,  as  an  Eurydice  from  Tartarus. 
The  higher  the  Wisdom,  the  closer  was  its  neighborhood  and 
kindred  with  mere  Insanity;  literally  so;  —  and  thou  wilt, 
with  a  speechless  feeling,  observe  how  highest  Wisdom,  strug- 
gling up  into  this  world,  has  oftentimes  carried  such  tinctures 
and  adhesions  of  Insanity  still  cleaving  to  it  hither  ! 

All  Works,  each  in  their  degree,  are  a  making  of  Madness 
sane;  —  truly  enough  a  religious  operation;  which  cannot  be 
carried  on  without  religion.  You  have  not  work  otherwise  ; 
you  have  eye-service,  greedy  grasping  of  wages,  swilt  and 
ever  swifter  manufacture  of  semblances  to  get  hold  of  wages. 


200  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  HI. 

Instead  of  better  felt-hats  to  cover  your  head,  you  have  bigger 
lath-and-plaster  hats  set  travelling  the  streets  on  wheels. 
Instead  of  heavenly  and  earthly  Guidance  for  the  souls  of 
men,  you  have  "  Black  or  White  Surplice "  Controversies, 
stuffed  hair-and-leather  Popes  ;  —  terrestrial  Law-wards,  Lords 
and  Law-bringers,  "  organizing  Labor  "  in  these  years,  by  pass- 
ing Corn-Laws.  With  all  which,  alas,  this  distracted  Earth 
is  now  full,  nigh  to  bursting.  Semblances  most  smooth  to 
the  touch  and  eye ;  most  accursed,  nevertheless,  to  body  and 
soul.  Semblarifces,  be  they  of  Sham-woven  Cloth  or  of  Dilet- 
tante Legislation,  which  are  not  real  wool  or  substance,  but 
Devil's-dust,  accursed  of  God  and  man  !  No  man  has  worked, 
or  can  work,  except  religiously  ;  not  even  the  poor  day-laborer, 
the  weaver  of  your  coat,  the  sewer  of  your  shoes.  All  men, 
if  they  work  not  as  in  a  Great  Taskmaster's  eye,  will  work 
wrong,  work  unhappily  for  themselves  and  you. 

Industrial  work,  still  under  bondage  to  Mammon,  the  ra- 
tional soul  of  it  not  yet  awakened,  is  a  tragic  spectacle.  Men 
in  the  rapidest  motion  and  self-motion ;  restless,  with  convul- 
sive energy,  as  if  driven  by  Galvanism,  as  if  possessed  by  a 
Devil ;  tearing  asunder  mountains,  —  to  no  purpose,  for  Mam- 
monism  is  always  Midas-eared  !  This  is  sad,  on  the  face  of  it. 
Yet  courage :  the  beneficent  Destinies,  kind  in  their  sternness, 
are  apprising  us  that  this  cannot  continue.  Labor  is  not  a 
devil,  even  while  encased  in  Mammonism ;  Labor  is  ever  an 
imprisoned  god,  writhing  unconsciously  or  consciously  to  es- 
cape out  of  Mammonism  !  Plugson  of  Undershot,  like  Taille- 
fer  of  Normandy,  wants  victory  ;  how  much  happier  will  even 
Plugson  be  to  have  a  Chivalrous  victory  than  a  Choctaw 
one  !  The  unredeemed  ugliness  is  that  of  a  slothful  People. 
Show  me  a  People  energetically  busy  ;  heaving,  struggling, 
all  shoulders  at  the  wheel ;  their  heart  pulsing,  every  muscle 
swelling,  with  man's  energy  and  will ;  —  I  show  you  a  People 
of  whom  great  good  is  already  predicable  ;  to  whom  all  man- 
ner of  good  is  yet  certain,  if  their  energy  endure.  By  very 
working,  they  will  learn ;  they  have,  Antaeus-like,  their  foot 
on  Mother  Fact :  how  can  they  but  learn  ? 


CHAP.  XII.  REWARD.  201 

The  vulgarest  Plugson  of  a  Master- Worker,  who  can  com- 
mand Workers,  and  get  work  out  of  them,  is  already  a  consid- 
erable man.  Blessed  and  thrice-blessed  symptoms  I  discern 
of  Master- Workers  who  are  not  vulgar  men  ;  who  are  Nobles, 
and  begin  to  feel  that  they  must  act  as  such :  all  speed  to 
these,  they  are  England's  hope  at  present !  But  in  this  Plug- 
son  himself,  conscious  of  almost  no  nobleness  whatever,  how 
much  is  there !  Not  without  man's  faculty,  insight,  courage, 
hard  energy,  is  this  rugged  figure.  His  words  none  of  the 
wisest ;  but  his  actings  cannot  be  altogether  foolish.  Think, 
how  were  it,  stoodst  thou  suddenly  in  his  shoes  !  He  has  to 
command  a  thousand  men.  And  not  imaginary  commanding ; 
no,  it  is  real,  incessantly  practical.  The  evil  passions  of  so 
many  men  (with  the  Devil  in  them,  as  in  all  of  us)  he  has  to 
vanquish  j  by  manifold  force  of  speech  and  of  silence,  to  re- 
press or  evade.  What  a  force  of  silence,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
others,  is  in  Plugson !  For  these  his  thousand  men  he  has 
to  provide  raw-material,  machinery,  arrangement,  house-room  ; 
and  ever  at  the  week's  end,  wages  by  due  sale.  No  Civil- 
List,  or  Goulburn-Baring  Budget  has  he  to  fall  back  upon,  for 
paying  of  his  regiment ;  he  has  to  pick  his  supplies  from  the 
confused  face  of  the  whole  Earth  and  Contemporaneous  His- 
tory, by  his  dexterity  alone.  There  will  be  dry  eyes  if  he  fail 
to  do  it !  —  He  exclaims,  at  present,  "  black  in  the  face,"  near 
strangled  with  Dilettante  Legislation  :  "  Let  me  have  elbow- 
room,  throat-room,  and  I  will  not  fail !  No,  I  will  spin  yet, 
and  conquer  like  a  giant :  what  '  sinews  of  war  '  lie  in  me,  un- 
told resources  towards  the  Conquest  of  this  Planet,  if  instead 
of  hanging  me,  you  husband  them,  and  help  me  !  "  —  My  in- 
domitable friend,  it  is  true  ;  and  thou  shalt  and  must  be  helped. 

This  is  not  a  man  I  would  kill  and  strangle  by  Corn-Laws, 
even  if  I  could  !  No,  I  would  fling  my  Corn-Laws  and  Shot- 
belts  to  the  Devil ;  and  try  to  help  this  man.  I  would  teach 
him,  by  noble  precept  and  law-precept,  by  noble  example  most 
of  all,  that  Mammonism  was  not  the  essence  of  his  or  of  my 
station  in  God's  Universe  ;  but  the  adscititious  excrescence  of 
it ;  the  gross,  terrene,  godless  embodiment  of  it ;  which  would 
have  to  become,  more  or  less,  a  godlike  one.  By  noble  real 


202  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  III. 

legislation,  by  true  nobles-work,  by  unwearied,  valiant,  and 
were  it  wageless  effort,  in  my  Parliament  and  in  my  Parish, 
I  would  aid,  constrain,  encourage  him  to  effect  more  or  less 
this  blessed  change.  I  should  know  that  it  w<5uld  have  to 
be  effected ;  that  unless  it  were  in  some  measure  effected,  he 
and  I  and  all  of  us,  I  first  and  soonest  of  all,  were  doomed  to 
perdition !  —  Effected  it  will  be  ;  unless  it  were  a  Demon  that 
made  this  Universe  ;  which  I,  for  my  own  part,  do  at  no 
moment,  under  no  form,  in  the  least  believe. 

May  it  please  your  Serene  Highnesses,  your  Majesties, 
Lordships  and  Law-wardships,  the  proper  Epic  of  this  world 
is  not  now  "  Arms  and  the  Man ;  "  how  much  less,  "  Shirt- 
frills  and  the  Man  :  "  no,  it  is  now  "  Tools  and  the  Man  :  " 
that,  henceforth  to  all  time,  is  now  our  Epic  j  —  and  you,  first 
of  all  others,  I  think,  were  wise  to  take  note  of  that ! 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

DEMOCRACY. 

IF  the  Serene  Highnesses  and  Majesties  do  not  take  note 
of  that,  then  as  I  perceive,  that  will  take  note  of  itself  !  The 
time  for  levity,  insincerity,  and  idle  babble  and  play-acting, 
in  all  kinds,  is  gone  by ;  it  is  a  serious,  grave  time.  Old  long- 
vexed  questions,  not  yet  solved  in  logical  words  or  parlia- 
mentary laws,  are  fast  solving  themselves  in  facts,  somewhat 
unblessed  to  behold !  This  largest  of  questions,  this  question 
of  Work  and  Wages,  which  ought,  had  we  heeded  Heaven's 
voice,  to  have  begun  two  generations  ago  or  more,  cannot  be 
delayed  longer  without  hearing  Earth's  voice.  "  Labor  "  will 
verily  need  to  be  somewhat  "organized,"  as  they  say, —  God 
knows  with  what  difficulty.  Man  will  actually  need  to  have 
his  debts  and  earnings  a  little  better  paid  by  man ;  which,  let 
Parliaments  speak  of  them  or  be  silent  of  them,  are  eternally 
his  due  from  man,  and  cannot,  without  penalty  and  at  length 
not  without  death-penalty,  be  withheld.  How  much  ought 


CHAP.  XIII.  DEMOCRACY.  203 

to  cease  among  us   straightway ;  how  much  ought  to  begin 
straightway,  while  the  hours  yet  are ! 

Truly  they  are  strange  results  to  which  this  of  leaving  all 
to  "  Cash ; "  of  quietly  shutting  up  the  God's  Temple,  and 
gradually  opening  wide  open  the  Mammon's  Temple,  with 
"  Laissez-faire,  and  Every  man  for  himself,"  —  have  led  us 
in  these  days !  We  have  Upper,  speaking  Classes,  who  indeed 
do  "  speak  "  as  never  man  spake  before ;  the  withered  flimsi- 
ness,  the  godless  baseness  and  barrenness  of  whose  Speech 
might  of  itself  indicate  what  kind  of  Doing  and  practical  Gov- 
erning went  on  under  it !  For  Speech  is  the  gaseous  element 
out  of  which  most  kinds  of  Practice  and  Performance,  espe- 
cially all  kinds  of  moral  Performance,  condense  themselves, 
and  take  shape;  as  the  one  is,  so  will  the  other  be.  De- 
scending, accordingly,  into  the  Dumb  Class  in  its  Stockport 
Cellars  and  Poor-Law  Bastilles,  have  we  not  to  announce 
that  they  also  are  hitherto  unexampled  in  the  History  of 
Adam's  Posterity. 

Life  was  never  a  May-game  for  men:  in  all  times  the  lot 
of  the  dumb  millions  born  to  toil  was  defaced  with  manifold 
sufferings,  injustices,  heavy  burdens,  avoidable  and  unavoida- 
ble ;  not  play  at  all,  but  hard  work  that  made  the  sinews  sore 
and  the  heart  sore.  As  bond-slaves,  vi/lani,  bordarii,  soche- 
manni,  nay  indeed  as  dukes,  earls  and  kings,  men  were  often- 
times made  weary  of  their  life ;  and  had  to  say,  in  the  sweat 
of  their  brow  and  of  their  soul,  Behold,  it  is  not  sport,  it 
is  grim  earnest,  and  our  back  can  bear  no  more  !  Who  knows 
not  what  massaerings  and  harry  ings  there  have  been  ;  grind 
ing,  long-continuing,  unbearable  injustices,  —  till  the  heart 
.had  to  rise  in  madness,  and  some  "  Eu  Sarftsen,  nimith  eiier 
sac/ises,  You  Saxons,  out  with  your  gully-knives,  then  !  *'  You 
Saxons,  some  "  arrestment,"  partial  "  arrestment  of  the  Knaves 
and  Dastards  "  has  become  indispensable  !  —  The  page  of  Dry- 
asdust is  heavy  with  such  details. 

And  yet  I  will  venture  to  believe  that  in  no  time,  since  the 
beginnings  of  Society,  was  the  lot  of  those  same  dumb  mil- 
lions of  toilers  so  entirely  unbearable  as  it  is  even  in  the  days 
now  passing  over  us.  It  is  not  to  die,  or  even  to  die  of 


204  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  III. 

hunger,  that  makes  a  man  wretched ;  many  men  have  died ; 
all  men  must  die,  —  the  last  exit  of  us  all  is  in  a  Fire-Chariot 
of  Pain.  But  it  is  to  live  miserable  we  know  not  why  ;  to 
work  sore  and  yet  gain  nothing ;  to  be  heart-worn,  weary,  yet 
isolated,  unrelated,  girt  in  with  a  cold  universal  Laissez-i'aire : 
it  is  to  die  slowly  all  our  life  long,  imprisoned  in  a  deaf,  dead, 
Infinite  Injustice,  as  in  the  accursed  iron  belly  of  a  Phalaris' 
Bull  !  This  is  and  remains  forever  intolerable  to  all  men 
whom  God  has  made.  Do  we  wonder  at  French  Eevolutions, 
Chartisms,  Revolts  of  Three  Days  ?  The  times,  if  we  will 
consider  them,  are  really  unexampled. 

Never  before  did  I  hear  of  an  Irish  Widow  reduced  to 
"  prove  her  sisterhood  by  dying  of  typhus-fever  and  infecting 
seventeen  persons,"  —  saying  in  such  undeniable  way,  "  You 
see  I  was  your  sister ! "  Sisterhood,  brotherhood,  was  often 
forgotten ;  but  not  till  the  rise  of  these  ultimate  Mammon 
and  Shot-belt  Gospels  did  I  ever  see  it  so  expressly  denied.  If 
no  pious  Lord  or  Law-ward  would  remember  it,  always  some 
pious  Lady  ("  Hlaf-dig"  Benefactress,  "  Loaf -giver  ess,"  they 
say  she  is,  —  blessings  on  her  beautiful  heart !)  was  there, 
with  mild  mother-voice  and  hand,  to  remember  it  ;  some  pious 
thoughtful  Elder,  what  we  now  call  "  Prestex,"  Presbyter  or 
"  Priest,"  was  there  to  put  all  men  in  mind  of  it,  in  the  name 
of  the  God  who  had  made  all. 

Not  even  in  Black  Dahomey  was  it  ever,  I  think,  forgot- 
ten to  the  typhus-fever  length.  Mungo  Park,  resourceless, 
had  sunk  down  to  die  under  the  Negro  Village-Tree,  a  hor- 
rible White  object  in  the  eyes  of  all.  But  in  the  poor  Black 
Woman,  and  her  daughter  who  stood  aghast  at  him,  whose 
earthly  wealth  and  funded  capital  consisted  of  one  small  cala- 
bash of  rice,  there  lived  a  heart  richer  than  Laiss&ts-faire  : 
they,  with  a  royal  munificence,  boiled  their  riee  for  him;  they 
sang  all  night  to  him,  spinning  assiduous  on  their  cotton  dis- 
taffs, as  he  lay  to  sleep :  "  Let  us  pity  the  poor  white  man  ; 
no  mother  has  he  to  fetch  him  milk,  no  sister  to  grind  him 
corn  !  "  Thou  poor  black  Noble  One,  —  thou  Lady  too  :  did 
not  a  God  make  thee  too ;  was  there  not  in  thee  too  some- 
thing of  a  God!  — 


CHAP.  XHI.  DEMOCRACY.  205 

Gurth,  born  thrall  of  Cedric  the  Saxon,  has  been  greatly 
pitied  by  Dryasdust  and  others.  Gurth,  with  the  brass  collar 
round  his  ueck,  tending  Cedric's  pigs  in  the  glades  of  the 
wood,  is  not  what  I  call  an  exemplar  of  human  felicity :  but 
Gurth,  with  the  sky  above  him,  with  the  free  air  and  tinted 
Iwscage  and  umbrage  round  him,  and  in  him  at  least  the  cer- 
tainty of  supper  and  social  lodging  when  he  came  home; 
Gurth  to  me  seems  happy,  in  comparison  with  many  a  Lanca- 
shire and  Buckinghamshire  man  of  these  days,  not  born  thrall 
of  anybody !  Gurth's  brass  collar  did  not  gall  him :  Cedric 
deserved  to  be  his  master.  The  pigs  were  Cedric's,  but  Gurth 
too  would  get  his  parings  of  them.  Gurth  had  the  inex- 
pressible satisfaction  of  feeling  himself  related  indissolubly, 
though  in  a  rude  brass-collar  way,  to  his  fellow-mortals  in 
this  Earth.  He  had  superiors,  inferiors,  equals.  —  Gurth  is 
now  "  emancipated "  long  since ;  has  what  we  call  "  Lib-  *K 
erty."  Liberty,  I  am  told,  is  a  divine  thing.  Liberty  when  // 
it  becomes  the  "  Liberty  to  die  by  starvation "  is  not  so  ' 
divine  ! 

Liberty  ?  The  true  liberty  of  a  man,  you  would  say,  con- 
sisted in  his  finding  out,  or  being  forced  to  find  out  the  right 
path,  and  to  walk  thereon.  To  learn,  or  to  be  taught,  what 
work  he  actually  was  able  for ;  and  then  by  permission,  per- 
suasion, and  even  compulsion,  to  set  about  doing  of  the  same ! 
That  is  his  true  blessedness,  honor,  "  liberty  "  and  maximum 
of  well-being:  if  liberty  be  not  that,  I  for  one  have  small 
care  about  liberty.  You  do  not  allow  a  palpable  madman  to 
leap  over  precipices ;  you  violate  his  liberty,  you  that  are 
wise ;  and  keep  him,  were  it  in  strait-waistcoats,  away  from 
the  precipices  !  Every  stupid,  every  cowardly  and  foolish 
man  is  but  a  less  palpable  madman :  his  true  liberty  were  that 
a  wiser  man,  that  any  and  every  wiser  man,  could,  by  brass 
collars,  or  in  whatever  milder  or  sharper  way,  lay  hold  of  him 
when  he  was  going  wrong,  and  order  and  compel  him  to  go  a 
little  righter.  Oh,  if  thou  really  art  my  Senior,  Seigneur,  rny 
Elder,  Presbyter  or  Priest,  —  if  thou  art  in  very  deed  my 
Wiser,  may  a  beneficent  instinct  lead  and  impel  thee  to  "  con- 
quer "  me,  to  command  me !  If  thou  do  know  better  than  I 


206  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  III. 

what  is  good  and  right,  I  conjure  thee  in  the  name  of  God, 
force  me  to  do  it ;  were  it  by  never  such  brass  collars,  whips 
and  handcuffs,  leave  me  not  to  walk  over  precipices !  That  I 
have  been  called,  by  all  the  Newspapers,  a  "  free  man "  will 
avail  me  little,  if  my  pilgrimage  have  ended  in  death  and 
wreck.  Oh  that  the  Newspapers  had  called  me  slave,  coward, 
fool,  or  what  it  pleased  their  sweet  voices  to  name  me,  and 
I  had  attained  not  death,  but  life!  —  Liberty  requires  new 
definitions. 

A  conscious  abhorrence  and  intolerance  of  Folly,  of  Base- 
ness, Stupidity,  Poltroonery  and  all  that  brood  of  things, 
dwells  deep  in  soine  men :  still  deeper  in  others  an  wraconscious 
abhorrence  and  intolerance,  clothed  moreover  by  the  benefi- 
cent Supreme  Powers  in  what  stout  appetites,  energies,  ego- 
isms so  called,  are  suitable  to  it ;  —  these  latter  are  your  Con- 
querors, Romans,  Normans,  Russians,  Indo-English ;  Founders 
of  what  we  call  Aristocracies.  Which  indeed  have  they  not 
the  most  "  divine  right  "  to  found;  —  being  themselves  very 
truly  "Apto-rot,  BRAVEST,  BEST  ;  and  conquering  generally  a 
confused  rabble  of  WORST,  or  at  lowest,  clearly  enough,  of 
WORSE  ?  I  think  their  divine  right,  tried,  with  affirmatory 
verdict,  in  the  greatest  Law-Court  known  to  me,  was  good ! 
A  class  of  men  who  are  dreadfully  exclaimed  against  by  Dry- 
asdust; of  whom  nevertheless  beneficent  Nature  has  often- 
times had  need ;  and  may,  alas,  again  have  need. 

When,  across  the  hundred-fold  poor  scepticisms,  trivialisms, 
and  constitutional  cobwebberies  of  Dryasdust,  you  catch  any 
glimpse  of  a  William  the  Conqueror,  a  Tancred  of  Hauteville  or 
such  like,  —  do  you  not  discern  veritably  some  rude  outline  of 
a  true  God-made  King ;  whom  not  the  Champion  of  England 
cased  in  tin,  but  all  Nature  and  the  Universe  were  calling  to 
the  throne  ?  It  is  absolutely  necessary  that  he  get  thither. 
Nature  does  not  mean  her  poor  Saxon  children  to  perish,  of 
obesity,  stupor  or  other  malady,  as  yet:  a  stern  Ruler  and 
Line  of  Rulers  therefore  is  called  in,  —  a  stern  but  most  be- 
neficent perpetual  House- Surgeon  is  by  Nature  herself  called  in, 
and  even  the  appropriate  fees  are  provided  for  him  !  Dryas- 
dust talks  lamentably  about  Hereward  and  the  Fen  Counties ; 


CHAP.  XIII.  DEMOCRACY.  207 

fate  of  Earl  Waltheof;  Yorkshire  arid  the  North  reduced  to 
ashes :  all  which  is  undoubtedly  lamentable.  But  even  Dry- 
asdust apprises  uie  of  one  fact :  "  A  child,  in  this  William's 
reign,  might  have  carried  a  purse  of  gold  from  end  to  end  of 
England."  My  erudite  friend,  it  is  a  fact  which  outweighs  a 
thousand !  Sweep  away  thy  constitutional,  sentimental  and 
other  cobwebberies ;  look  eye  to  eye,  if  thou  still  have  any 
eye,  in  the  face  of  this  big  burly  William  Bastard :  thou  wilt 
see  a  fellow  of  most  flashing  discernment,  of  most  strong  lion- 
heart  ;  — in  whom,  as  it  were,  within  a  frame  of  oak  and  iron, 
the  gods  have  planted  the  soul  of  "  a  man  of  genius  "  !  Dost 
thou  call  that  nothing  '.'  I  call  it  an  immense  thing  !  — Rage 
enough  was  in  this  Willelinus  Conqusestor,  rage  enough  for  his 
occasions ;  —  and  yet  the  essential  element  of  him,  as  of  all 
such  men,  is  not  scorching  f  re,  but  shining  illuminative  light. 
Fire  and  light  are  strangely  interchangeable  ;  nay,  at  bottom, 
I  have  found  them  different  forms  of  the  same  most  godlike 
"  elementary  substance  "  in  our  world  :  a  thing  worth  stating 
in  these  days.  The  essential  element  of  this  Conquaestor  is, 
first  of  all,  the  most  sun-eyed  perception  of  what  is  really 
what  on  this  God's-Earth ;  —  which,  thou  wilt  find,  does  mean 
at  l>ottom  "Justice,"  and  "  Virtues  "  not  a  few  :  Conformity  to 
what  the  Maker  has  seen  good  to  make ;  that,  I  suppose,  will 
mean  Justice  and  a  Virtue  or  two  ?  — 

Dost  thou  think  Willelinus  Conquaestor  would  have  toler- 
ated ten  years'  jargon,  one  hour's  jargon,  on  the  propriety  of 
killing  Cotton-manufacturers  by  partridge  Corn-Laws  ?  I 
fancy,  this  was  not  the  man  to  knock  out  of  his  night's-rest 
with  nothing  but  a  noisy  bedlamism  in  your  mouth  !  "  Assist 
us  still  better  to  bush  the  partridges  ;  strangle  Plugson  who 
spins  the  shirts?"  —  "Par  la  Splcnrteur  ae  Dieu  !  "  —  Dost 
thou  think  Willelmus  Conquaestor,  in  this  now  time,  with 
Steam-engine  Captains  of  Industry  on  one  hand  of  him,  and 
Joe-Manton  Captains  of  Idleness  on  the  other,  would  have 
doubted  which  was  really  the  BEST  ;  which  did  deserve  stran- 
gling, and  which  not  ? 

I  have  a  certain  indestructible  regard  for  Willelmus  Con- 
quaestor. A  resident  House-Surgeon,  provided  by  nature  for 


208  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  in. 

her  beloved  English  People,  and  even  furnished  with  the 
requisite  fees,  as  I  said;  for  he  by  no  means  felt  himself 
doing  Nature's  work,  this  Willelmus,  but  his  own  work  exclu- 
sively !  And  his  own  work  withal  it  was ;  informed  "par  la 
Splendeur  de  Dieu."  —  I  say,  it  is  necessary  to  get  the  work 
out  of  such  a  man,  however  harsh  that  be !  When  a  world, 
not  yet  doomed  for  death,  is  rushing  down  to  ever-deeper 
Baseness  and  Confusion,  it  is  a  dire  necessity  of  Nature's 
to  bring  in  her  ARISTOCRACIES,  her  BEST,  even  by  forcible 
methods.  When  their  descendants  or  representatives  cease 
entirely  to  be  the  Best,  Nature's  poor  world  will  very  soon 
rush  down  again  to  Baseness  ;  and  it  becomes  a  dire  necessity 
of  Nature's  to  cast  them  out.  Hence  French  Kevolutions, 
Five- point  Charters,  Democracies,  and  a  mournful  list  of 
Etceteras,  in  these  our  afflicted  times. 

To  what  extent  Democracy  has  now  reached,  how  it  ad- 
vances irresistible  with  ominous,  ever-increasing  speed,  he 
that  will  open  his  eyes  on  any  province  of  human  affairs  may 
discern.  Democracy  is  everywhere  the*  inexorable  demand 
of  these  ages,  swiftly  fulfilling  itself.  From  the  thunder  of 
Napoleon  battles,  to  the  jabbering  of  Open-vestry  in  St.  Mary 
Axe,  all  things  announce  Democracy.  A  distinguished  man, 
whom  some  of  my  readers  will  hear  again  with  pleasure,  thus 
writes  to  me  what  in  these  days  he  notes  from  the  Wahngasse 
of  Weissnichtwo,  where  our  London  fashions  seem  to  be  in 
full  vogue.  Let  us  hear  the  Herr  Teufelsdrockh  again,  were 
it  but  the  smallest  word ! 

"Democracy,  which  means  despair  of  finding  any  Heroes 
to  govern  you,  and  contented  putting  up  with  the  want  of 
them,  —  alas,  thou  too,  mein  Lieber,  seest  well  how  close  it 
is  of  kin  to  Atheism,  and  other  sad  Isms:  he  who  discovers 
no  God  whatever,  how  shall  he  discover  Heroes,  the  visible 
Temples  of  God  ?  —  Strange  enough  meanwhile  it  is,  to  ob- 
serve with  what  thoughtlessness,  here  in  our  rigidly  Conserva- 
tive Country,  men  rush  into  Democracy  with  full  cry.  Beyond 
doubt,  his  Excellenz  the  Titular-Herr  Hitter  Kauderwalseh 
von  Pferdefuss-Quacksalber,  he  our  distinguished  Conserva- 
tive Premier  himself,  and  all  but  the  thicker-headed  of  his 


CHAI«.  XIII.  DEMOCRACY.  209 

Party,  discern  Democracy  to  be  inevitable  as  death,  and  are 
even  desperate  of  delaying  it  much  ! 

••'  You  cannot  walk  the  streets  without  beholding  Democracy 
announce  itself:  the  very  Tailor  has  become,  if  not  properly 
Sansculottic,  which  to  him  would  be  ruinous,  yet  a  Tailor 
unconsciously  symbolizing,  and  prophesying  with  his  scissors, 
the  reign  of  Equality.  What  now  is  our  fashionable  coat  ? 
A  thing  of  superfinest  texture,  of  deeply  meditated  cut ;  with 
Malines-lace  cuffs;  quilted  Avith  gold;  so  that  a  man  can 
carry,  without  difficulty,  an  estate  of  land  on  his  back  ?  Kei- 
nesweys,  By  no  manner  of  means  !  The  Sumptuary  Laws  have 
fallen  into  such  a  state  of  desuetude  as  was  never  before  seen. 
Our  fashionable  coat  is  an  amphibium  between  barn-sack  and 
drayman's  doublet.  The  cloth  of  it  is  studiously  coarse ;  the 
color  a  speckled  soot-black  or  rust-brown  gray ;  the  nearest 
approach  to  a  Peasant's.  And  for  shape,  —  thou  shouldst 
see  it !  The  last  consummation  of  the  year  now  passing  over 
us  is  definable  as  Three  Bags ;  a  big  bag  for  the  body,  two 
small  bags  for  the  arms,  and  by  way  of  collar  a  hem  !  The 
first  Antique  Cheruscan  who,  of  felt-cloth  or  bear's-hide,  with 
bone  or  metal  needle,  set  about  making  himself  a  coat,  before 
Tailors  had  yet  awakened  out  of  Nothing,  —  did  not  he  make 
it  even  so  ?  A  loose  wide  poke  for  body,  with  two  holes  to 
let  out  the  arms  ;  this  was  his  original  coat :  to  which  holes 
it  was  soon  visible  that  two  small  loose  pokes,  or  sleeves, 
easily  appended,  would  be  an  improvement. 

"Thus  has  the  Tailor-art,  so  to  speak,  overset  itself,  like 
most  other  things ;  changed  its  centre-of-gravity ;  whirled 
suddenly  over  from  zenith  to  nadir.  Your  Stulz,  with  huge 
somerset,  vaults  from  his  high  shopboard  down  to  the  depths 
of  primal  savagery,  —  carrying  much  along  with  him!  For  I 
will  invite  thee  to  reflect  that  the  Tailor,  as  topmost  ultimate 
froth  of  Human  Society,  is  indeed  swift-passing,  evanescent, 
slippery  to  decipher;  yet  significant  of  much,  nay  of  all. 
Topmost  evanescent  froth,  he  is  churned  up  from  the  very 
lees,  and  from  all  intermediate  regions  of  the  liquor.  The 
general  outcome  he,  visible  to  the  eye,  of  what  men  aimed  to 
do,  and  were  obliged  and  enabled  to  do,  in  this  one  public 

TOL.  XII.  14 


210  PAST   AND   PRESENT.  BOOK  III. 

department  of  symbolizing  themselves  to  each  other  by  cover- 
ing of  their  skins.  A  smack  of  all  Human  Life  lies  in  the 
Tailor;  its  wild  struggles  towards  beauty,  dignity,  freedom, 
victory ;  and  how,  hemmed  in  by  Sedan  and  Huddersfield, 
by  Nescience,  Dulness,  Prurience,  and  other  sad  necessities  and 
laws  of  Nature,  it  has  attained  just  to  this :  Gray  savagery 
of  Three  Sacks  with  a  hem  ! 

"When  the  very  Tailor  verges  towards  Sansculottism,  is 
it  not  ominous  ?  The  last  Divinity  of  poor  mankind  dethron- 
ing himself;  sinking  his  taper  too,  flame  downmost,  like  the 
Genius  of  Sleep  or  of  Death  ;  admonitory  that  Tailor  time 
shall  be  no  more !  —  For,  little  as  one  could  advise  Sumptu- 
ary Laws  at  the  present  epoch,  yet  nothing  is  clearer  than 
that  where  ranks  do  actually  exist,  strict  division  of  costumes 
will  also  be  enforced;  that  if  we  ever  have  a  new  Hierarchy 
and  Aristocracy,  acknowledged  veritably  as  such,  for  which 
I  daily  pray  Heaven;  the  Tailor  will  reawaken;  and  be,  by 
volunteering  and  appointment,  consciously  and  unconsciously, 
a  safeguard  of  that  same/'  —  Certain  farther  observations, 
from  the  same  invaluable  pen,  on  our  never-ending  changes 
of  mode,  our  "  perpetual  nomadic  and  even  ape-like  appetite 
for  change  and  mere  '  change  '  in  all  the  equipments  of  our 
existence,  and  the  fatal  revolutionary  character "  thereby 
manifested,  we  suppress  for  the  present.  It  may  be  admit- 
ted that  Democracy,  in  all  meanings  of  the  word,  is  in  full 
career ;  irresistible  by  any  Hitter  Kauderwalsch  or  other 
Son  of  Adam,  as  times  go.  "  Liberty "  is  a  thing  men  are 
determined  to  have. 

But  truly,  as  I  had  to  remark  in  the  mean  while,  "the 
liberty  of  not  being  oppressed  by  your  fellow  man "  is  an 
indispensable,  yet  one  of  the  most  insignificant  fractional 
parts  of  Human  Liberty.  No  man  oppresses  thee,  can  bid 
thee  fetch  or  carry,  come  or  go,  without  reason  shown.  True ; 
from  .ill  men  thou  art  emancipated  :  but  from  Thyself  and 
from  the  Devil  —  ?  No  man,  wiser,  unwiser,  can  make  thee 
come  or  go :  but  thy  own  futilities,  bewilderments,  thy  false 
appetites  for  Money,  Windsor  Georges  and  such  like  ?  No  man 


CHAP.  XIII.  DEMOCRACY.  211 

oppresses  thee,  0  free  and  independent  Franchiser:  but  does 
not  this  stupid  Porter-pot  oppress  thee  ?  No  Son  of  Adam 
can  bid  thee  come  or  go  ;  but  this  absurd  Pot  of  Heavy -wet, 
this  can  and  does !  Thou  art  the  thrall  not  of  Cedric  the 
Saxon,  but  of  thy  own  brutal  appetites  and  this  scoured  dish 
of  liquor.  And  thou  pratest  of  thy  "  liberty  "  ?  Thou  entire 
blockhead ! 

Heavy-wet  and  gin:  alas,  these  are  not  the  only  kinds  of 
thraldom.  Thou  who  walkest  in  a  vain  show,  looking  out 
with  ornamental  dilettante  sniff  and  serene  supremacy  at  all 
Life  and  all  Death ;  and  amblest  jauntily  ;  perking  up  thy 
poor  talk  into  crotchets,  thy  poor  conduct  into  fatuous  som- 
nambulisms ;  —  and  art  as  an  "  enchanted  Ape  "  under  God's 
sky,  where  thou  mightest  have  been  a  man,  had  proper  School- 
masters and  Conquerors,  and  Constables  with  cat-o'-nine  tails, 
been  vouchsafed  thee;  dost  thou  call  that  "liberty"?  Or  your 
unreposing  Mammon-worshipper  again,  driven,  as  if  by  Gal- 
vanisms, by  Devils  And  Fixed-Ideas,  who  rises  early  and  sits 
late,  chasing  the  impossible  ;  straining  every  faculty  to  "  fill 
himself  with  the  east-wind,"  —  how  merciful  were  it,  could 
you,  by  mild  persuasion,  or  by  the  severest  tyranny  so 
called,  check  him  in  his  mad  path,  and  turn  him  into  a 
wiser  one !  All  painful  tyranny,  in  that  case  again,  were 
but  mild  "  surgery ; "  the  pain  of  it  cheap,  as  health  and  life, 
instead  of  galvanism  and  fixed-idea,  are  cheap  at  any  price. 

Sure  enough,  of  all  paths  a  man  could  strike  into,  there 
w,  at  any  given  moment,  a  best  path  for  every  man ;  a  thing 
which,  here  and  now,  it  were  of  all  things  wisest  for  him  to 
do;  —  which  could  he  be  but  led  or  driven  to  do,  he  were 
then  doing  "  like  a  man,"  as  we  phrase  it ;  all  men  and  gods 
agreeing  with  him,  the  whole  Universe  virtually  exclaiming 
Well-done  to  him!  His  success,  in  such  case,  were  com- 
plete ;  his  felicity  a  maximum.  This  path,  to  find  this  path 
and  walk  in  it,  is  the  one  thing  needful  for  him.  Whatso- 
ever forwards  him  in  that,  let  it  come  to  him  even  in  the 
shape  of  blows  and  spurnings,  is  liberty  :  whatsoever  hinders 
him,  were  it  ward-motes,  open-vestries,  poll-booths,  tremendous 
cheers,  rivers  of  heavy-wet,  is  slavery. 


212  PAST   AND   PRESENT.  BOOK  III. 

The  notion  that  a  man's  liberty  consists  in  giving  his  vote  at 
election-hustings,  and  saying,  "  Behold,  now  I  too  have  my 
twenty-thousandth  part  of  a  Talker  in  our  National  Palaver  ; 
will  not  all  the  gods  be  good  to  me  ?  "  —  is  one  of  the  pleasant- 
est !  Nature  nevertheless  is  kind  at  present ;  and  puts  it  into 
the  heads  of  many,  almost  of  all.  The  liberty  especially  which 
has  to  purchase  itself  by  social  isolation,  and  each  man  stand- 
ing separate  from  the  other,  having  "  no  business  with  him  " 
but  a  cash-account :  this  is  such  a  liberty  as  the  Earth  seldom 
saw ;  —  as  the  Earth  will  not  long  put  up  with,  recommend  it 
how  you  may.  This  liberty  turns  out,  before  it  have  long  con- 
tinued in  action,  with  all  men  flinging  up  their  caps  round  it, 
to  be,  for  the  Working  Millions  a  liberty  to  die  by  want  of 
food ;  for  the  Idle  Thousands  and  Units,  alas,  a  still  more  fatal 
liberty  to  live  in  want  of  work ;  to  have  no  earnest  duty  to  do 
in  this  God's- World  any  more.  What  becomes  of  a  man  in 
such  predicament  ?  Earth's  Laws  are  silent ;  and  Heaven's 
speak  in  a  voice  which  is  not  heard.  -No  work,  and  the 
ineradicable  need  of  work,  give  rise  to  new  very  wondrous 
life-philosophies,  new  very  wondrous  life-practices  !  Dilet- 
tantism, Pococurantism,  Beau-Brummelism,  with  perhaps  an 
occasional,  half-mad,  protesting  burst  of  Byronism,  establish 
themselves :  at  the  end  of  a  certain  period,  —  if  you  go  back 
to  "  the  Dead  Sea,"  there  is,  say  our  Moslem  friends,  a  very 
strange  "  Sabbath-day  "  transacting  itself  there; !  —  Brethren, 
we  know  but  imperfectly  yet,  after  ages  of  Constitutional 
Government,  what  Liberty  and  Slavery  are. 

Democracy,  the  chase  of  Liberty  in  that  direction,  shall 
go  its  full  course;  unrestrainable  by  him  of  Pferdefuss- 
Quacksalber,  or  any  of  his  household.  The  Toiling  Millions 
of  Mankind,  in  most  vital  need  and  passionate  instinctive 
desire  of  Guidance,  shall  cast  away  False-Guidance ;  and  hope, 
for  an  hour,  that  No-Guidance  will  suffice  them  :  but  it  can  be 
for  an  hour  only.  The  smallest  item  of  human  Slavery  is  the 
oppression  of  man  by  his  Mock-Superiors  ;  the  palpablest,  but 
I  say  at  bottom  the  smallest.  Let  him  shake  off  such  op- 
pression, trample  it  indignantly  under  his  feet ;  I  blame  him 
not,  I  pity  and  commend  him.  But  oppression  by  your  Mock- 


CHAP.  XIII.  DEMOCRACY.  213 

Superiors  well  shaken  off,  the  grand  problem  yet  remains  to 
solve  :  That  of  finding  government  by  your  Real-Superiors  ! 
Alas,  how  shall  we  ever  learn  the  solution  of  that,  benighted, 
bewildered,  sniffing,  sneering,  God-forgetting  unfortunates  as 
we  are  ?  It  is  a  work  for  centuries ;  to  be  taught  us  by  tribu- 
lations, confusions,  insurrections,  obstructions  ;  who  knows  if 
not  by  conflagration  and  despair !  It  is  a  lesson  inclusive  of 
all  other  lessons  ;  the  hardest  of  all  lessons  to  learn. 

One  thing  I  do  know :  Those  Apes,  chattering  on  the 
branches  by  the  Dead  Sea,  never  got  it  learned ;  but  chattel- 
there  to  this  day.  To  them  no  Moses  need  come  a  second 
time  ;  a  thousand  Moseses  would  be  but  so  many  painted  Phan- 
tasms, interesting  Fellow- Apes  of  new  strange  aspect,  —  whom 
they  would  "  invite  to  dinner,"  be  glad  to  meet  with  in  lion- 
soirees.  To  them  the  voice  of  Prophecy,  of  heavenly  moni- 
tion, is  quite  ended.  They  chatter  there,  all  Heaven  shut  to 
them,  to  the  end  of  the  world.  The  unfortunates  !  Oh,  what 
is  dying  of  hunger,  with  honest  tools  in  your  hand,  with  a 
manful  purpose  in  your  heart,  and  much  real  labor  lying  round 
you  done,  in  comparison  ?  You  honestly  quit  your  tools  ;  quit 
a  most  muddy  confused  coil  of  sore  work,  short  rations,  of 
sorrows,  dispiritments  and  contradictions,  having  now  honestly 
done  with  it  all ;  —  and  await,  not  entirely  in  a  distracted 
manner,  what  the  Supreme  Powers,  and  the  Silences  and  the 
Eternities  may  have  to  say  to  you. 

A  second  thing  I  know :  This  lesson  will  have  to  be  learned, 
—  under  penalties  !  England  will  either  learn  it,  or  England 
also  will  cease  to  exist  among  Nations.  England  will  either 
learn  to  reverence  its  Heroes,  and  discriminate  them  from  its 
Sham-Heroes  and  Valets  and  gas-lighted  Histrios ;  and  to  prize 
them  as  the  audible  God's-voice,  amid  all  inane  jargons  and 
temporary  market-cries,  and  say  to  them  with  heart-loyalty, 
"Be  ye  King  and  Priest,  and  Gospel  and  Guidance  for  us:" 
or  else  England  will  continue  to  worship  new  and  ever-new 
forms  of  Quackhood,  —  and  so,  with  what  resiliences  and  re- 
Ixnmdings  matters  little,  go  down  to  the  Father  of  Quacks  ! 
Can  I  dread  such  things  of  England  ?  Wretched,  thick-eyed, 
gross-hearted  mortals,  why  will  ye  worship  lies,  and  4<  Stuffed 


214  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  III- 

Clothes-suits  created  by  the  ninth-parts  of  men " !  It  is  not 
your  purses  that  suffer ;  your  farm-rents,  your  "commerces,  your 
mill-revenues,  loud  as  ye  lament  over  these ;  no,  it  is  not  these 
alone,  but  a  far  deeper  than  these :  it  is  your  souls  that  lie 
dead,  crushed  down  under  despicable  Nightmares,  Atheisms, 
Brain-fumes ;  and  are  not  souls  at  all,  but  mere  succedanea  for 
salt  to  keep  your  bodies  and  their  appetites  from  putrefying  ! 
Your  cotton-spinning  and  thrice-miraculous  mechanism,  what 
is  this  too,  by  itself,  but  a  larger  kind  of  Animalism  ?  Spiders 
can  spin,  Beavers  can  build  and  show  contrivance ;  the  Ant 
lays  up  accumulation  of  capital,  and  has,  for  aught  I  know, 
a  Bank  of  Antland.  If  there  is  no  soul  in  man  higher  than 
all  that,  did  it  reach  to  sailing  on  the  cloud-rack  and  spinning 
sea-sand ;  then  I  say,  man  is  but  an  animal,  a  more  cunning 
kind  of  brute  :  he  has  no  soul,  but  only  a  succedaneum  for  salt. 
Whereupon,  seeing  himself  to  be  truly  of  the  beasts  that  perish, 
he  ought  to  admit  it,  I  think ;  —  and  also  straightway  univer- 
sally to  kill  himself ;  and  so,  in  a  manlike  manner  at  least  end, 
and  wave  these  brute-worlds  his  dignified  farewell !  — 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

SIB   JABESH    WINDBAG. 

OLIVER  CROMWELL,  whose  body  they  hung  on  their  Tyburn 
gallows  because  he  had  found  the  Christian  Religion  inexe- 
cutable  in  this  country,  remains  to  me  by  far  the  remarkablest 
iGovernor  we  have  had  here  for  the  last  five  centuries  or  so. 
For  the  last  five  centuries,  there  has  been  no  Governor  among 
us  with  anything  like  similar  talent;  and  for  the  last  two 
centuries,  no  Governor,  we  may  say,  with  the  possibility  of 
similar  talent,  —  with  an  idea  in  the  heart  of  him  capable 
of  inspiring  similar  talent,  capable  of  co-existing  therewith. 
When  you  consider  that  Oliver  believed  in  a  God,  the  differ- 
ence between  Oliver's  position  and  that  of  any  subsequent 


CHAP.  XIV.  SIR  JABESH  WINDBAG.  215 

Governor  of  this  Country  becomes,  the  more  you  reflect  on  it, 
the  more  immeasurable ! 

Oliver,  no  volunteer  in  Public  Life,  but  plainly  a  balloted 
soldier  strictly  ordered  thither,  enters  upon  Public  Life  ;  com- 
ports himself  there  like  a  man  who  carried  his  own  life  in  his 
hand  ;  like  a  man  whose  Great  Commander's  eye  was  always 
on  him.  Not  without  results.  Oliver,  well  advanced  in  years, 
finds  now,  by  Destiny  and  his  own  Deservings,  or  as  he  him- 
self better  phrased  it,  by  wondrous  successive  "Births  of 
Providence,"  the  Government  of  England  put  into  his  hands. 
In  senate-house  and  battle-field,  in  counsel  and  in  action,  in  pri- 
vate and  in  public,  this  man  has  proved  himself  a  man :  Eng- 
land and  the  voice  of  God,  through  waste  awful  whirlwinds 
and  environments,  speaking  to  his  great  heart,  summon  him 
to  assert  formally,  in  the  way  of  solemn  Public  Fact  and  as  a 
new  piece  of  English  Law,  what  informally  and  by  Nature's 
eternal  Law  needed  no  asserting,  That  he,  Oliver,  was  the 
Ablest  Man  of  England,  the  King  of  England  ;  that  he,  Oliver, 
would  undertake  governing  England.  His  way  of  making  this 
same  "  assertion,"  the  one  way  he  had  of  making  it,  has  given 
rise  to  immense  criticism  :  but  the  assertion  itself,  in  what  way 
soever  "  made,"  is  it  not  somewhat  of  a  solemn  one,  somewhat 
of  a  tremendous  one ! 

And  now  do  but  contrast  this  Oliver  with  my  right  hon- 
orable friend  Sir  Jabesh  Windbag,  Mr.  Facing-both-ways, 
Viscount  Mealymouth,  Earl  of  Windlestraw,  or  what  other 
Cagliostro,  Cagliostrino,  Cagliostraccio,  the  course  of  Fortune 
and  Parliamentary  Majorities  has  constitutionally  guided  to 
that  dignity,  any  time  during  these  last  sorrowful  hundred- 
and-tifty  years !  Windbag,  weak  in  the  faith  of  a  God,  which 
he  believes  only  at  Church  on  Sundays,  if  even  then  ;  strong 
only  in  the  faith  that  Paragraphs  and  Plausibilities  bring 
votes;  that  Force  of  Public  Opinion,  us  he  calls  it,  is  the 
primal  Necessity  of  Things,  and  highest  God  we  have  :  — 
Windbag,  if  we  will  consider  him,  has  a  problem  set  before 
him  which  may  be  ranged  in  the  impossible  class.  He  is  a 
Columbus  minded  to  sail  to  the  indistinct  country  of  NOWHERE, 
to  the  indistinct  country  of  WHITHKKWARD,  by  the  friendship 


216  PAST   AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  III. 

of  those  same  waste-tumbling  Water- Alps  and  howling  waltz 
of  All  the  Winds ;  not  by  conquest  of  them  and  in  spite  of 
them,  but  by  friendship  of  them,  when  once  they  have  made 
up  their  mind  !  He  is  the  most  original  Columbus  I  ever  saw. 
Nay,  his  problem  is  not  an  impossible  one  :  he  will  infallibly 
arrive  at  that  same  country  of  NOWHERE  ;  his  indistinct 
Whitherward  will  be  a  T/i^Amvard !  In  the  Ocean  Abysses 
and  Locker  of  Davy  Jones,  there  certainly  enough  do  he  and 
his  ship's  company,  and  all  their  cargo  and  navigatings,  at  last 
find  lodgment. 

Oliver  knew  that  his  America  lay  THERE,  Westward  Ho  ;  — 
and  it  was  not  entirely  by  friendship  of  the  Water-Alps,  and 
yeasty  insane  Froth-Oceans,  that  he  meant  to  get  thither  !  Ho 
sailed  accordingly ;  had  compass-card,  and  Rules  of  Navigation, 
—  older  and  greater  than  these  Froth-Oceans,  old  as  the  Eter- 
nal God  !  Or  again,  do  but  think  of  this.  WTindbag  in  these 
his  probable  five  years  of  office  has  to  prosper  and  get  Para- 
graphs :  the  Paragraphs  of  these  five  years  must  be  his  salva- 
tion, 01'  he  is  a  lost  man ;  redemption  nowhere  in  the  Worlds 
or  in  the  Times  discoverable  for  him.  Oliver  too  woiild  like 
his  Paragraphs  ;  successes,  popularities  in  these  five  years  are 
not  undesirable  to  him  :  but  mark,  I  say,  this  enormous  cir- 
cumstance :  after  these  five  years  are  gone  and  done,  comes  an 
Eternity  for  Oliver  !  Oliver  has  to  appear  before  the  Most 
High  Judge  :  the  utmost  flow  of  Paragraphs,  the  utmost  ebb 
of  them,  is  now,  in  strictest  arithmetic,  verily  no  matter  at  all : 
its  exact  value  zero  •  an  account  altogether  erased  !  Enor- 
mous  ;  —  which  a  man,  in  these  days,  hardly  fancies  with  an 
effort !  Oliver's  Paragraphs  are  all  done,  his  battles,  division- 
lists,  successes  all  summed  :  and  now  in  that  awful  unerring 
Court  of  Review,  the  real  question  first  rises, "Whether  1  it- 
has  succeeded  at  all;  whether  he  has  not  been  defeated  miser 
ably  forevermore  ?  Let  him  come  with  world-wide  Io-Pit>ans, 
these  avail  him  not.  Let  him  come  covered  over  with  the 
world's  execrations,  gashed  with  ignominious  death-wounds, 
the  gallows-rope  about  his  neck  :  what  avails  that  ?  The  word 
is,  Come  thou  brave  and  faithful ;  the  word  is,  Depart  thou 
quack  and  accursed.' 


CHAP.  XIV.  SIR  JABESH   WINDBAG.  217 

O  Windbag,  my  right  honorable  friend,  in  very  truth  I  pity 
thee.  I  say,  these  Paragraphs,  and  low  or  loud  votings  of  thy 
poor  fellow-blockheads  of  mankind,  will  never  guide  thee  in 
any  enterprise  at  all.  Govern  a  country  on  such  guidance  ? 
Thou  canst  not  make  a  pair  of  shoes,  sell  a  pennyworth  of 
tape,  on  such.  No,  thy  shoes  are  vamped  up  falsely  to  meet 
the  market;  behold,  the  leather  only  seemed  to  be  tanned;  thy 
shoes  melt  under  me  to  rubbishy  pulp,  and  are  not  veritable 
mud-defying  shoes,  but  plausible  vendible  similitudes  of  shoes, 
—  thou  unfortunate,  and  I !  0  my  right  honorable  friend, 
when  the  Paragraphs  flowed  in,  who  was  like  Sir  Jabesh  ? 
On  the  swelling  tide  he  mounted  ;  higher,  higher,  triumphant, 
heaven-high.  But  the  Paragraphs  again  ebbed  out,  as  unwise 
Paragraphs  needs  must :  Sir  Jabesh  lies  stranded,  sunk  and 
forever  sinking  in  ignominious  ooze  ;  the  Mud-nymphs,  and 
ever-deepening  bottomless  Oblivion,  his  portion  to  eternal 
time.  "  Posterity  ?  "  Thou  appealest  to  Posterity,  thou  ? 
My  right  honorable  friend,  what  will  Posterity  do  for  thee  ! 
The  voting  of  Posterity,  were  it  continued  through  centuries 
in  thy  favor,  will  be  quite  inaudible,  extra-forensic,  without 
any  effect  whatever.  Posterity  can  do  simply  nothing  for  a 
man  ;  nor  even  seem  to  do  much  if  the  man  be  not  brainsick. 
Besides,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  bets  are  a  thousand  to  one, 
Posterity  will  not  hear  of  thee,  my  right  honorable  friend ! 
Posterity,  I  have  found,  has  generally  his  own  Windbags 
sufficiently  trumpeted  in  all  market-places,  and  no  leisure  to 
attend  to  ours.  Posterity,  which  has  made  of  Norse  Odin 
a  similitude,  and  of  Norman  William  a  brute  monster,  what 
will  or  can  it  make  of  English  Jabesh  ?  0  Heavens,  "  Pos- 
terity ! "  — 

"  These  poor  persecuted  Scotch  Covenanters,"  said  I  to  my 
inquiring  Frenchman,  in  such  stinted  French  as  stood  at  com- 
mand, "  ils  i? fit  apprfnient  "  "  —  "  A  fa  Poste'rife."  interrupted 
ho,  helping  me  out.  —  "Ah,  Monsieur,  non,  millr  fnis  non  ! 
They  appealed  to  the  Eternal  God ;  not  to  Posterity  at  all ! 
C'etait  different." 


218  PAST  AND   PRESENT.  BOOK  ill. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MORRISON    AGAIN. 

NEVERTHELESS,  0  Advanced-Liberal,  one  cannot  promise  thee 
any  "  New  Religion,"  for  some  time ;  to  say  truth,  I  do  not 
think  we  have  the  smallest  chance  of  any!  Will  the  candid 
reader,  by  way  of  closing  this  Book  Third,  listen  to  a  few 
transient  remarks  on  that  subject  ? 

Candid  readers  have  not  lately  met  with  any  man  who  had 
less  notion  to  interfere  with  their  Thirty -Nine  or  other  Church- 
Articles  ;  wherewith,  very  helplessly  as  is  like,  they  may  have 
struggled  to  form  for  themselves  some  not  inconceivable  hy- 
pothesis about  this  Universe,  and  their  own  Existence  there. 
Superstition,  my  friend,  is  far  from  me  ;  Fanaticism,  for  any 
Fanum  likely  to  arise  soon  on  this  Earth,  is  far.  A  man's 
Church- Articles  are  surely  articles  of  price  to  him ;  and  in 
these,  times  one  has  to  be  tolerant  of  many  strange  "  Articles," 
and  of  many  still  stranger  "No-articles,"  which  go  about  placard- 
ing themselves  in  a  very  distracted  manner,  —  the  numerous 
long  placard-poles,  and  questionable  infirm  paste-pots,  interfer- 
ing with  one's  peaceable  thoroughfare  sometimes  ! 

Fancy  a  man,  moreover,  recommending  his  fellow  men  to 
believe  in  God,  that  so  Chartism  might  abate,  and  the  Man- 
chester Operatives  be  got  to  spin  peaceably  !  The  idea  is  more 
distracted  than  any  placard-pole  seen  hitherto  in  a  public 
thoroughfare  of  men  !  My  friend,  if  thou  ever  do  come  to 
believe  in  God,  thou  wilt  rind  all  Chartism,  Manchester  riot, 
Parliamentary  incompetence,  Ministries  of  Windbag,  and  the 
wildest  Social  Dissolutions,  and  the  burning  up  of  this  entire 
Planet,  a  most  small  matter  in  comparison.  Brother,  this 
Planet,  I  find,  is  but  an  inconsiderable  sand-grain  in  the  con- 
tinents of  Being :  this  Planet's  poor  temporary  interests,  thy 
interests  and  my  interests  there,  when  I  look  fixedly  into  that 


CHAP.  XV.  MORRISON   AGAIN.  210 

eternal  Light-Sea  and  Flame-Sea  with  its  eternal  interests, 
dwindle  literally  into  Nothing;  my  speech  of  it  is  —  silence 
for  the  while.  I  will  as  soon  think  of  making  Galaxies  and 
Star-Systems  to  guide  little  herring-vessels  by,  as  of  preaching 
Religion  that  the  Constable  may  continue  possible.  0  my 
Advanced-Liberal  friend,  this  new  second  progress,  of  proceed- 
ing "  to  invent  God,"  is  a  very  strange  one  !  Jacobinism  un- 
folded into  Saint-Simonism  bodes  innumerable  blessed  things  ; 
but  the  thing  itself  might  draw  tears  from  a  Stoic  !  —  As  for 
me,  some  twelve  or  thirteen  New  Religions,  heavy  Packets, 
most  of  them  unfranked,  having  arrived  here  from  various 
parts  of  the  world,  in  a  space  of  six  calendar  months,  I  have 
instructed  my  invaluable  friend  the  Stamped  Postman  to  intro- 
duce no  more  of  them,  if  the  charge  exceed  one  penny. 

Henry  of  Essex,  duelling  in  that  Thames  Island,  "  near  to 
Reading  Abbey,"  had  a  religion.  But  was  it  in  virtue  of  his 
seeing  armed  Phantasms  of  St.  Edmund  "  on  the  rim  of  the 
horizon,"  looking  minatory  on  him  ?  Had  that,  intrinsically, 
anything  to  do  with  his  religion  at  all  ?  Henry  of  Essex's 
religion  was  the  Inner  Light  or  Moral  Conscience  of  his  own 
soul ;  such  as  is  vouchsafed  still  to  all  souls  of  men  ;  —  which 
Inner  Light  shone  here  "  through  such  intellectual  and  other 
media"  as  there  were;  producing  "Phantasms,"  Kircherean 
Visual-Spectra,  according  to  circumstances  !  It  is  so  with  all 
men.  The  clearer  my  Inner  Light  may  shine,  through  the 
less  turbid  media,  the  fewer  Phantasms  it  may  produce,  — 
the  gladder  surely  shall  I  be,  and  not  the  sorrier  !  Hast  thou 
reflected,  0  serious  reader,  Advanced-Liberal  or  other,  that 
the  one  end,  essence,  use  of  all  religion  past,  present  and  to 
come,  was  this  only :  To  keep  that  same  Moral  Conscience  or 
Inner  Light  of  ours  alive  and  shining;  — which  certainly  the 
"  Phantasms  "  and  the  "  turbid  media  "  were  not  essential  for ! 
All  religion  was  here  to  remind  us,  better  or  worse,  <5f  what 
we  already  know  better  or  worse,  of  the  quite  infinite  differ- 
ence there  is  between  a  Good  man  and  a  Bad ;  to  bid  us  love 
infinitely  the  one,  abhor  and  avoid  infinitely  the  other,  — 
strive  infinitely  to  be  the  one,  and  not  to  be  the  other.  "All 


220  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  III. 

religion  issues  in  due  Practical  Hero-worship."  He  that  has 
a  soul  unasphyxied  will  never  want  a  religion;  he  that  has 
a  soul  asphyxied,  reduced  to  a  succedaneum  for  salt,  will 
never  find  any  religion,  though  you  rose  from  the  dead  to 
preach  him  one. 

But  indeed,  when  men  and  reformers  ask  for  "  a  religion," 
it  is  analogous  to  their  asking,  "  What  would  you  have  us  to 
do  ?  "  and  such  like.  They  fancy  that  their  religion  too  shall 
be  a  kind  of  Morrison's  Pill,  which  they  have  only  to  swallow 
once,  and  all  will  be  well.  Resolutely  once  gulp  down  your 
Religion,  your  Morrison's  Pill,  you  have  it  all  plain  sailing 
now :  you  can  follow  your  affairs,  your  no-affairs,  go  along 
money-hunting,  pleasure-hunting,  dilettanting,  dangling,  and 
miming  and  chattering  like  a  Dead-Sea  Ape :  your  Morrison 
will  do  your  business  for  you.  Men's  notions  are  very  strange ! 
—  Brother,  I  say  there  is  not,  was  not,  nor  will  ever  be,  in 
the  wide  circle  of  Nature,  any  Pill  or  Religion  of  that  char- 
acter. Man  cannot  afford  thee  such ;  for  the  very  gods  it  is 
impossible.  I  advise  thee  to  renounce  Morrison ;  once  for 
all,  quit  hope  of  the  Universal  Pill.  For  body,  for  soul,  for 
individual  or  society,  there  has  not  any  such  article  been 
made.  Non  extat.  In  Created  Nature  it  is  not,  was  not,  will 
not  be.  In  the  void  imbroglios  of  Chaos  only,  and  realms 
of  Bedlam,  does  some  shadow  of  it  hover,  to  beAvilder  and 
bemock  the  poor  inhabitants  there. 

Rituals,  Liturgies,  Creeds,  Hierarchies :  all  this  is  not  re- 
ligion ;  all  this,  were  it  dead  as  Odinism,  as  Fetishism,  does 
not  kill  religion  at  all !  It  is  Stupidity  alone,  with  never  so 
many  rituals,  that  kills  religion.  Is  not  this  still  a  World  ? 
Spinning  Cotton  under  Arkwright  and  Adam  Smith ;  found- 
ing Cities  by  the  Fountain  of  Juturna,  on  the  Janiculum 
Mount;  tilling  Canaan  under  Prophet  Samuel  and  Psalmist 
David,  man  is  ever  man ;  the  missionary  of  Unseen  Powers ; 
and  gr*at  and  victorious,  while  he  continues  true  to  his  mis- 
sion ;  mean,  miserable,  foiled,  and  at  last  annihilated  and 
trodden  out  of  sight  and  memory,  when  he  proves  untrue. 
Brother,  thou  art  a  Man,  I  think;  thou  art  not  a  mere  build- 
ing Beaver,  or  two-legged  Cotton-Spider ;  thou  hast  verily  a 


CHAP.  XV.  MORRISON  AGAIN.  221 

Soul  in  thee,  asphyxied  or  otherwise  !  Sooty  Manchester,  — 
it  too  is  built  on  the  infinite  Abysses ;  overspanned  by  the 
skyey  Firmaments ;  and  there  is  birth  in  it,  and  death  in  it ; 
—  and  it  is  every  whit  as  wonderful,  as  fearful,  unimaginable, 
as  the  oldest  Salem  or  Prophetic  City.  Go  or  stand,  in  what 
time,  in  what  place  we  will,  are  there  not  Immensities,  Eter- 
nities over  us,  around  us,  in  us  :  — 

"  Solemn  before  as, 
Veiled,  the  dark  Portal, 
Goal  of  all  mortal :  — 
Stars  silent  rest  o'er  us, 
Graves  under  us  silent ! " 

Between  these  two  great  Silences,  the  hum  of  all  our  spinning 
cylinders,  Trades- Unions,  Anti-Corn-Law  Leagues  and  Carlton 
Clubs  goes  on.  Stupidity  itself  ought  to  pause  a  little  and 
consider  that.  I  tell  thee,  through  all  thy  Ledgers,  Supply- 
and-deinand  Philosophies,  and  daily  most  modern  melancholy 
Business  and  Cant,  there  does  shine  the  presence  of  a  Pri- 
meval Unspeakable ;  and  thou  wert  wise  to  recognize,  not 
with  lips  only,  that  same  ! 

The  Maker's  Laws,  whether  they  are  promulgated  in  Sinai 
Thunder,  to  the  ear  or  imagination,  or  quite  otherwise  pro- 
mulgated, are  the  Laws  of  God;  transcendent,  evjjtjasting, 
imperatively  demanding  obedience  from  all  men.  This,  with- 
out any  thunder,  or  with  never  so  much  thunder,  thou,  if 
there  be  any  soul  left  in  thee,  canst  know  of  a  truth.  The 
Universe,  I  say,  is  made  by  Law ;  the  great  Soul  of  the  World 
is  just  and  not  unjust.  Look  thou,  if  thou  have  eyes  or 
soul  left,  into  this  great  shoreless  Incomprehensible :  in  the 
heart  of  its  tumultuous  Appearances,  Embroilments,  and  mad 
Ti mo- vortexes,  is  there  not,  silent,  eternal,  an  All-just,  an  All- 
beautiful;  sole  Reality  and  ultimate  controlling  Power  "trf  the 
whole  ?  This  is  not  a  figure  of  speech ;  this-is  a  fad?.  The 
fact  of  Gravitation  known  to  all  animals,  is  not  sugar  than 
this  inner  Fact,  which  may  be  known  to  all  -.men,  «H^  who 
knows  this,  it  will  sink,  silent,  awful,  unspeakabMjjE||ito  his 
heart.  He  will  say  with  Faust :  "  Who  efar*vaa||p|lfiM  ?  >r 
Most  rituals  or  "namings"he  will  fall  in  with  at  pr-  —  -  •. 


222  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  in. 

are  like  to  be  "  namings  "  —  which  shall  be  nameless  !  In 
silence,  in  the  Eternal  Temple,  let  him  worship,  if  there  be 
no  fit  word.  Such  knowledge,  the  crown  of  his  whole  spiritual 
being,  the  life  of  his  life,  let  him  keep  and  sacredly  walk  by. 
He  has  a  religion.  Hourly  and  daily,  for  himself  and  for  the 
whole  world,  a  faithful,  unspoken,  but  not  ineffectual  prayer 
rises,  "Thy  will  be  done."  His  whole  work  on  Earth  is  an 
emblematic  spoken  or  acted  prayer,  Be  the  will  of  God  done  on 
Earth,  —  not  the  Devil's  will,  or  any  of  the  Devil's  servants' 
wills  !  He  has  a  religion,  this  man ;  an  everlasting  Load-star 
that  beams  the  brighter  in  the  Heavens,  the  darker  here  on 
Earth  grows  the  night  around  him.  Thou,  if  thou  know  not 
this,  what  are  all  rituals,  liturgies,  mythologies,  mass-chant-' 
ings,  turnings  of  the  rotatory  calabash  ?  They  are  as  noth- 
ing ;  in  a  good  many  respects  they  are  as  less.  Divorced  from 
this,  getting  half-divorced  from  this,  they  are  a  thing  to  fill 
one  with  a  kind  of  horror ;  with  a  sacred  inexpressible  pity 
and  fear.  The  most  tragical  thing^a  human  eye  can  look  on. 
It  was  said  to  the  Prophet,  "  Behold,  I  will  show  thee  worse 
things  than  these :  women  weeping  to  Thammuz."  That  was 
the  acme  of  the  Prophet's  vision,  —  then  as  now. 

Rituals,  Liturgies,  Credos,  Sinai  Thunder :  I  know  more  or 
less  the  history  of  these ;  the  rise,  progress,  decline  and  fall 
of  these.  Can  thunder  from  all  the  thirty-two  azimuths,  re- 
peated daily  for  centuries  of  years,  make  God's  Laws  more 
godlike  to  me  ?  Brother,  No.  Perhaps  I  am  grown  to  be  a 
man  now;  and  do  not  need  the  thunder  and  the  terror  any 
longer!  Perhaps  I  am  above  being  frightened;  perhaps  it  is 
not  Fear,  but  Reverence  alone,  that  shall  now  lead  me !  — 
Revelations,  Inspirations  ?  Yes :  and  thy  own  god-created 
Soul;  dost  thou  not  call  that  a  "revelation"?  Who  made 
THEK  ?  Where  didst  Thou  come  from  ?  The  Voice  of  Eter- 
nity, if  thou  be  not  a  blasphemer  and  poor  asphyxied  mute, 
speaks  with  that  tongue  of  thine  !  Thou  art  the  latest  Birth 
of  Nature  ;  it  is  "the  Inspiration  of  the  Almighty"  that  giveth 
thee  understanding  !  My  brother,  my  brother  !  — 

Under  baleful  Atheisms,  Mammonisms,  Joe-Manton  Dilet- 
tantisms,   with   their   appropriate   Cants   and    Idolisms,    and 


CHAP.  XV.  MORRISON   AGAIN.  223 

whatsoever  scandalous  rubbish  obscures  and  all  but  extin- 
guishes the  soul  of  man,  —  religion  now  is  ;  its  Laws,  written 
if  not  on  stone  tables,  yet  on  the  Azure  of  Infinitude,  in  the 
inner  heart  of  God's  Creation,  certain  as  Life,  certain  as 
Death !  I  say  the  Laws  are  there,  and  thou  shalt  not  disobey 
them.  It  were  better  for  thee  not.  Better  a  hundred  deaths 
than  yes.  Terrible  "  penalties,"  withal,  if  thou  still  need  "  pen- 
alties," are  there,  for  disobeying.  Dost  thou  observe,  0  red- 
tape  Politician,  that  fiery  infernal  Phenomenon,  which  men 
name  FKKNCH  REVOLUTION',  sailing,  unlooked-for,  unbidden  ; 
through  thy  inane  Protocol  Dominion  :  —  far-seen,  with  splen- 
dor not  of  Heaven  ?  Ten  centuries  will  see  it.  There  were 
Tanneries  at  Meudon  for  human  skins.  And  Hell,  very  truly 
Hell,  had  power  over  God's  upper  Earth  for  a  season.  The 
cruelest  Portent  that  has  risen  into  created  Space  these  ten 
centuries  :  let  us  hail  it,  with  awe-struck  repentant  hearts,  as 
the  voice  once  more  of  a  God,  though  of  one  in  wrath.  Blessed 
be  the  God's- voice ;  for  it  is  true,  and  Falsehoods  have  to  cease 
before  it !  But  for  that  same  preternatural  quasi-infernal  Por- 
tent, one  could  not  know  what  to  make  of  this  wretched  world, 
in  these  days,  at  all.  The  deplorablest  quack-ridden,  and  now 
hunger-ridden,  down-trodden  Despicability  and  Flebile  Ludi- 
brium,  of  red-tape  Protocols,  rotatory  Calabashes,  Poor-Law 
Bastilles :  who  is  there  that  could  think  of  its  being  fated  to 
continue  ?  — 

Penalties  enough,  my  brother !  This  penalty  inclusive  of 
all :  Eternal  Death  to  thy  own  hapless  Self,  if  thou  heed  no 
other.  Eternal  Death,  I  say,  —  with  many  meanings  old  and 
new,  of  which  let  this  single  one  suffice  us  here :  The  eternal 
impossibility  for  thee  to  be  aught  but  a  Chimera,  and  swift- 
vanishing  deceptive  Phantasm,  in  God's  Creation  ;  —  swift- 
vanishing,  never  to  reappear :  why  should  it  reappear  !  Thou 
hadst  one  chance,  thou  wilt  never  have  another.  Everlasting 
ages  will  roll  on,  and  no  other  be  given  thee.  The  foolishest 
articulate-speaking  soul  now  extant,  may  not  he  say  to  him- 
self :  "  A  whole  Eternity  I  waited  to  be  born ;  and  now  I  have 
a  whole  Eternity  waiting  to  see  what  I  will  do  when  born  ! " 
This  is  not  Theology,  this  is  Arithmetic.  And  thou  but 


224  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOR  m. 

half-discernest  this ;  thou  but  half-believest  it  ?  Alas,  on 
the  shores  of  the  Dead  Sea,  on  Sabbath,  there  goes  on  a 
Tragedy !  — 

But  we  will  leave  this  of  "  Religion ; "  of  which,  to  say 
truth,  it  is  chiefly  profitable  in  these  unspeakable  days  to  keep 
silence.  Thou  needest  no  "  New  Religion ;  "  nor  art  thou 
like  to  get  any.  Thou  hast  already  more  "  religion  "  than  thou 
makest  use  of.  This  day  thou  knowest  ten  commanded  duties, 
seest  in  thy  mind  ten  things  which  should  be  done,  for  one 
that  thou  doest !  Do  one  of  them ;  this  of  itself  will  show 
thee  ten  others  which  can  and  shall  be  done.  "  But  my  future 
fate  ?  "  Yes,  thy  future  fate,  indeed !  Thy  future  fate,  while 
thou  makest  it  the  chief  question,  seems  to  me  —  extremely 
questionable !  I  do  not  think  it  can  be  good.  Norse  Odin, 
immemorial  centuries  ago,  did  not  he,  though  a  poor  Heathen, 
in  the  dawn  of  Time,  teach  us  that  for  the  Dastard  there  was, 
and  could  be,  no  good  fate ;  no  harbor  anywhere,  save  down 
with  Hela,  in  the  pool  of  Night !  Dastards,  Knaves,  are  they 
that  lust  for  Pleasure,  that  tremble  at  Pain.  For  this  world 
and  for  the  next  Dastards  are  a  class  of  creatures  made  to  be 
"  arrested ; "  they  are  good  for  nothing  else,  can  look  for  noth- 
ing else.  A  greater  than  Odin  has  been  here.  A  greater  than 
Odin  has  taught  us  —  not  a  greater  Dastardism,  I  hope  !  My 
brother,  thou  must  pray  for  a  soul ;  struggle,  as  with  life-and- 
death  energy,  to  get  back  thy  soul !  Know  that  "  religion  "  is 
no  Morrison's  Pill  from  without,  but  a  reawakening  of  thy 
own  Self  from  within :  —  and,  above  all,  leave  me  alone  of  thy 
"  religions  "  and  "new  religions  "  here  and  elsewhere  !  I  am 
weary  of  this  sick  croaking  for  a  Morrison's-Pill  religion  ;  for 
any  and  for  every  such.  I  want  none  such ;  and  discern  all 
such  to  be  impossible.  The  resuscitation  of  old  liturgies 
fallen  dead  ;  much  more,  the  manufacture  of  new  liturgies  that 
will  never  be  alive :  how  hopeless  !  Stylitisms,  eremite  fanati- 
cisms and  fakirisms ;  spasmodic  agonistic  posture-makings, 
and  narrow,  cramped,  morbid,  if  forever  noble,  wrestlings : 
all  this  is  not  a  thing  desirable  to  me.  It  is  a  thing  the 
world  has  done  once,  —  when  its  beard  was  not  grown  as 
now ! 


CHAP.  XV.  MORRISON   AGAIN.  225 

And  yet  there  is,  at  worst,  one  Liturgy  which  does  remain 
forever  unexceptionable  :  that  of  Praying  (as  the  old  Monks 
did  withal)  by  Working.  And  indeed  the  Prayer  which  accom- 
plished itself  in  special  chapels  at  stated  hours,  and  went  not 
with  a  man,  rising  up  from  all  his  Work  and  Action,  at  all 
moments  sanctifying  the  same,  —  what  was  it  ever  good  for  ? 
"  Work  is  Worship ; "  yes,  in  a  highly  considerable  sense,  — 
which,  in  the  present  state  of  all  "  worship,"  who  is  there  that 
can  unfold!  He  that  understands  it  well,  understands  the 
Prophecy  of  the  whole  Future ;  the  last  Evangel,  which  has 
included  all  others.  Its  cathedral  the  Dome  of  Immensity,  — 
hast  thou  seen  it  ?  coped  with  the  star-galaxies  ;  paved  with 
the  green  mosaic  of  laud  and  ocean  ;  and  for  altar,  verily,  the 
Star-throne  of  the  Eternal !  Its  litany  and  psalmody  the  noble 
acts,  the  heroic  work  and  suffering,  and  true  heart-utterance 
of  all  the  Valiant  of  the  Sons  of  Men.  Its  choir-music  the 
ancient  Winds  and  Oceans,  and  deep-toned,  inarticulate,  but 
most  speaking  voices  of  Destiny  and  History,  —  supernal  ever 
as  of  old.  Between  two  great  Silences :  — 

"  Stars  silent  rest  o'er  us, 
Graves  under  us  silent !  " 

Between  which  two  great  Silences,  do  not,  as  we  said,  all 
human  Noises,  in  the  naturalest  times,  most  7>referaaturally 
march  and  roll  ?  — 

I  will  insert  this  also,  in  a  lower  strain,  from  Sauerteig's 
JEsthetische  Springwurzeln.  "  Worship  ?  "  says  he :  "  Before 
that  inane  tumult  of  Hearsay  rilled  men's  heads,  while  the 
world  lay  yet  silent,  and  the  heart  true  and  open,  many  things 
were  Worship  !  To  the  primeval  man  whatsoever  good  came, 
descended  on  him  (as,  in  mere  fact,  it  ever  does)  direct  from 
God;  whatsoever  duty  lay  visible  for  him,  this  a  Supreme  God 
had  prescribed.  To  the  present  hour  I  ask  thee,  Who  else  ? 
For  the  primeval  man,  in  whom  dwelt  Thought,  this  Universe 
was  all  ta  Temple  ;  Life  everywhere  a  Worship. 

"  What  Worship,  for  example,  is  there  not  in  mere  Washing  ! 

Perhaps  one  of  the  most  moral  tilings  a  man,  in  common  cases, 

has  it  in  his  power  to  do.     Strip  thyself,  go  into  the  bath,  or 

were   it  into  the  limpid  pool  and  running  brook,  and  there 

VOL.  xn.  16 


226  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  in 

wash  and  be  clean ;  thou  wilt  step  out  again  a  purer  and  a 
better  man.  This  consciousness  of  perfect  outer  pureness,  that 
to  thy  skin  there  now  adheres  no  foreign  speck  of  imperfection, 
how  it  radiates  in  on  thee,  with  cunning  symbolic  influences, 
to  thy  very  soul !  Thou  hast  an  increase  of  tendency  towards 
all  good  things  whatsoever.  The  oldest  Eastern  Sages,  with 
joy  and  holy  gratitude,  had  felt  it  so,  —  and  that  it  was  the 
Maker's  gift  and  will.  Whose  else  is  it  ?  It  remains  a  reli- 
gious duty,  from  oldest  times,  in  the  East.  —  Nor  could  Herr 
Professor  Strauss,  when  I  put  the  question,  deny  that  for  us 
at  present  it  is  still  such  here  in  the  West !  To  that  dingy 
fuliginous  Operative,  emerging  from  his  soot-mill,  what  is  the 
first  duty  I  will  prescribe,  and  offer  help  towards  ?  That 
he  clean  the  skin  of  him.  Can  he  pray,  by  any  ascertained 
method  ?  One  knows  not  entirely :  —  but  with  soap  and  a 
sufficiency  of  water,  he  can  wash.  Even  the  dull  English  feel 
something  of  this  ;  they  have  a  saying,  '  Cleanliness  is  near  of 
kin  to  Godliness : '  —  yet  never,  in  any  country,  saw  I  operative 
men  worse  washed,  and,  in  a  climate  drenched  with  the  softest 
cloud-water,  such  a  scarcity  of  baths  ! "  —  Alas,  Sauerteig,  our 
"  operative  men  "  are  at  present  short  even  of  potatoes  :  what 
"  duty  "  can  you  prescribe  to  them  ? 

Or  let  us  give  a  glance  at  China.  Our  new  friend,  the  Em- 
peror there,  is  Pontiff  of  three  hundred  million  men  ;  who  do 
all  live  and  work,  these  many  centuries  now ;  authentically 
patronized  by  Heaven  so  far ;  and  therefore  must  have  some 
"  religion  "  of  a  kind.  This  Emperor-Pontiff  has,  in  fact,  a 
religious  belief  of  certain  Laws  of  Heaven ;  observes,  Avith  a 
religious  rigor,  his  "three  thousand  punctualities,"  given  out 
by  men  of  insight,  some  sixty  generations  since,  as  a  legible 
transcript  of  the  same,  —  the  Heavens  do  seem  to  say,  not 
totally  an  incorrect  one.  He  has  not  much  of  a  ritual,  this 
Pontiff-Emperor ;  believes,  it  is  likest,  with  the  old  Monks, 
that  "  Labor  is  Worship."  His  most  public  Act  of  Worship,  it 
appears,  is  the  drawing  solemnly  at  a  certain  day,  on  the  green 
bosom  of  our  Mother  Earth,  when  the  Heavens,  after  dead 
black  winter,  have  again  with  their  vernal  radiances  awakened 
her,  a  distinct  red  Furrow  with  the  Plough,  —  signal  that  all 


CHAP.  xv.  MORRISON  AGAIN.  227 

the  Ploughs  of  China  are  to  begin  ploughing  and  worshipping ! 
It  is  notable  enough.  He,  in  sight  of  the  Seen  and  Unseen 
Powers,  draws  his  distinct  red  Furrow  there ;  saying,  and  pray- 
ing, in  mute  symbolism,  so  many  most  eloquent  things ! 

If  you  ask  this  Pontiff,  "  Who  made  him  ?  What  is  to 
become  of  him  and  us  ?  "  he  maintains  a  dignified  reserve ; 
waves  his  hand  and  pontiff-eyes  over  the  unfathomable  deep  of 
Heaven,  the  "  Tsien,"  the  azure  kingdoms  of  Infinitude ;  as  if 
asking,  "  Is  it  doubtful  that  we  are  right  well  made  ?  Can 
aught  that  is  wrong  become  of  us  ?  "  —  He  and  his  three  hun- 
dred millions  (it  is  their  chief  "  punctuality  ")  visit  yearly  the 
Tombs  of  their  Fathers ;  each  man  the  Tomb  of  his  Father  and 
his  Mother :  alone  there,  in  silence,  with  what  of  "  worship  " 
or  of  other  thought  there  may  be,  pauses  solemnly  each  man  ; 
the  divine  Skies  all  silent  over  him ;  the  divine  Graves,  and 
this  diviuest  Grave,  all  silent  under  him ;  the  pulsings  of  his 
own  soul,  if  he  have  any  soul,  alone  audible.  Truly  it  may  be 
a  kind  of  worship !  Truly,  if  a  man  cannot  get  some  glimpse 
into  the  Eternities,  looking  through  this  portal.  —  through 
what  other  need  he  try  it  ? 

Our  friend  the  Pontiff -Emperor  permits  cheerfully,  though 
with  contempt,  all  manner  of  Buddhists,  Bonzes, Talapoins  and 
such  like,  to  build  brick  Temples,  on  the  voluntary  principle ; 
to  worship  with  what  of  chantings,  paper-lanterns  and  tumul- 
tuous brayings,  pleases  them ;  and  make  night  hideous,  since 
they  find  some  comfort  in  so  doing.  Cheerfully,  though  with 
contempt.  He  is  a  wiser  Pontiff  than  many  persons  think  ! 
He  is  as  yet  the  one  Chief  Potentate  or  Priest  in  this  Earth 
who  has  made  a  distinct  systematic  attempt  at  what  we  call 
the  ultimate  result  of  all  religion,  "Practical  Hero-worship:" 
he  does  incessantly,  with  true  anxiety,  in  such  way  as  he  can, 
search  and  sift  (it  would  appear)  his  whole  enormous  popula- 
tion for  the  Wisest  born  among  them  ;  by  which  Wisest,  as  by 
born  Kings,  these  three  hundred  million  men  are  governed. 
The  Heavens,  to  a  certain  extent,  do  appear  to  countenance 
him.  These  three  hundred  millions  actually  make  porcelain, 
souchong  tea,  with  innumerable  other  things ;  and  fight,  under 
Heaven's  flag,  against  Necessity ;  —  and  have  fewer  Seven- 


228  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  III. 

Years  Wars,  Thirty- Years  Wars,  French-Revolution  Wars,  and 
infernal  lightings  with  each  other,  than  certain  millions  else- 
where have ! 

Nay  in  our  poor  distracted  Europe  itself,  in  these  newest 
times,  have  there  not  religious  voices  risen,  —  with  a  religion 
new  and  yet  the  oldest ;  entirely  indisputable  to  all  hearts  of 
men  ?  Some  I  do  know,  who  did  not  call  or  think  themselves 
"  Prophets,"  far  enough  from  that ;  but  who  were,  in  very 
truth,  melodious  Voices  from  the  eternal  Heart  of  Nature 
once  again;  souls  forever  venerable  to  all  that  have  a  soul.  A 
French  Revolution  is  one  phenomenon;  as  complement  and 
spiritual  exponent  thereof,  a  Poet  Goethe  and  German  Litera- 
ture is  to  me  another.  The  old  Secular  or  Practical  World,  so 
to  speak,  having  gone  up  in  fire,  is  not  here  the  prophecy  and 
dawn  of  a  new  Spiritual  World,  parent  of  far  nobler,  Avider, 
new  Practical  Worlds  ?  A  Life  of  Antique  devoutness,  An- 
tique veracity  and  heroism,  has  again  become  possible,  is  again 
seen  actual  there,  for  the  most  modern  man.  A  phenomenon, 
as  quiet  as  it  is,  comparable  for  greatness  to  no  other  !  "  The 
great  event  for  the  world  is,  now  as  always,  the  arrival  in  it 
of  a  new  Wise  Man."  Touches  there  are,  be  the  Heavens  ever 
thanked,  of  new  Sphere-melody ;  audible  once  more,  in  the 
infinite  jargoning  discords  and  poor  scrannel-pipings  of  the 
thing  called  Literature  ;  —  priceless  there,  as  the  voice  of  new 
Heavenly  Psalms  !  Literature,  like  the  old  Prayer-Collections 
of  the  first  centuries,  were  it  "well  selected  from  and  burnt," 
contains  precious  things.  For  Literature,  with  all  its  printing- 
presses,  puffing-engines  and  shoreless  deaf  ening  triviality,  As  yet 
"the  Thought  of  Thinking  Souls."  A  sacred  "  religion,"  if  you 
like  the  name,  does  live  in  the  heart  of  that  strange  froth-ocean, 
not  wholly  froth,  which  we  call  Literature ;  and  will  more  and 
more  disclose  itself  therefrom  ;  —  not  now  as  scorching  Fire: 
the  red  smoky  scorching  Fire  has  purified  itself  into  white 
sunny  Light.  Is  not  Light  grander  than  Fire  ?  It  is  the  same 
element  in  a  state  of  purity. 

My  ingenuous  readers,  we  will  march  out  of  this  Third  Book 
with  a  rhythmic  word  of  Goethe's  on  our  lips ;  a  word  which 


CHAP.  xv.  MORRISON  AGAIN.  229 

jKrhaps  has  already  sung  itself,  in  dark  hours  and  in  bright, 
through  many  a  heart.  To  me,  finding  it  devout  yet  wholly 
credible  and  veritable,  full  of  piety  yet  free  of  cant ;  to  me, 
joyfully  finding  much  in  it,  and  joyfully  missing  so  much  in 
it,  this  little  snatch  of  music,  by  the  greatest  German  Man, 
sounds  like  a  stanza  in  the  grand  Road-Sony  and  March  in  g- 
Song  of  our  great  Teutonic  Kindred,  wending,  wending,  valiant 
and  victorious,  through  the  undiscovered  Deeps  of  Time  !  He 
calls  it  Mason-Lodye,  —  not  Psalm  or  Hymn  :  — 

The  Mason's  ways  are 
A  type  of  Existence, 
And  his  persistence 
Is  as  the  days  are 
Of  men  in  this  world. 

The  Future  hides  in  it 
Gladness  and  sorrow ; 
We  press  still  thorow, 
Nought  that  abides  in  it 
Daunting  us,  —  onward. 

And  solemn  before  us, 
Veiled,  the  dark  Portal, 
Goal  of  all  mortal :  — 
Stars  silent  rest  o'er  us, 
Graves  under  us  silent ! 

While  earnest  thou  gazest, 
Comes  boding  of  terror, 
Comes  phantasm  and  error, 
Perplexes  the  bravest 
With  doubt  and  misgiving. 

But  heard  are  the  Voices, — 
Heard  are  the  Sages, 
The  Worlds  and  the  Ages : 
"  Choose  well ;  your  choice  is 
Brief  and  yet  endless  : 

"  Here  eyes  do  regard  you. 
In  Eternity's  stillness; 
Here  is  all  fulness, 
Ye  brave,  to  reward  you  ; 
Work,  and  despair  not." 


BOOK    IV. 

HOROSCOPE. 
CHAPTER  I. 

ARISTOCRACIES. 

To  predict  the  Future,  to  manage  the  Present,  would  not  be 
so  impossible,  had  not  the  Past  been  so  sacrilegiously  mis- 
handled; effaced,  and  what  is  worse,  defaced!  The  Past  can- 
not be  seen ;  the  Past,  looked  at  through  the  medium  of 
"Philosophical  History"  in  these  times,  cannot  even  be  not 
seen:  it  is  misseen;  affirmed  to  have  existed, — and  to  have 
been  a  godless  Impossibility.  Your  Norman  Conquerors,  true 
royal  souls,  crowned  kings  as  such,  were  vulturous  irrational 
tyrants :  your  Becket  was  a  noisy  egoist  and  hypocrite ;  get- 
ting his  brains  spilt  on  the  floor  of  Canterbury  Cathedral,  to 
secure  the  main  chance,  —  somewhat  uncertain  how!  "Policy, 
Fanaticism;"  or  say  "Enthusiasm,"  even  "honest  Enthusi- 
asm," —  ah  yes,  of  course :  — 

"  The  Dog,  to  gain  his  private  ends, 
Went  mad,  and  bit  the  Man  !  "- 

For  in  truth,  the  eye  sees  in  all  things  "  what  it  brought 
with  it  the  means  of  seeing."  A  godless  century,  looking  back 
on  centuries  that  were  godly,  produces  portraitures  more 
miraculous  than  any  other.  All  was  inane  discord  in  the 
Past ;  brute  Force  bore  rule  everywhere ;  Stupidity,  savage 
Unreason,  fitter  for  Bedlam  than  for  a  human  World  !  Where- 
by indeed  it  becomes  sufficiently  natural  that  the  like  quali- 
ties, in  new  sleeker  habiliments,  should  continue  in  our  time 


CHAP.  I.  ARISTOCRACIES.  231 

to  rule.  Millions  enchanted  in  Bastille  Workhouses ;  Irish 
Widows  proving  their  relationship  by  typhus-fever :  what 
would  you  have  ?  It  was  ever  so,  or  worse.  Man's  History, 
was  it  not  always  even  this  :  The  cookery  and  eating-up  of 
imbecile  Dupedom  by  successful  Quackhood ;  the  battle,  with 
various  weapons,  of  vulturous  Quack  and  Tyrant  against  vul- 
turous Tyrant  and  Quack  ?  No  God  was  in  the  Past  Time ; 
nothing  but  Mechanisms  and  Chaotic  Brute-Gods:  —  how  shall 
the  poor  "Philosophic  Historian,"  to  whom  his  own  century 
is  all  godless,  see  any  God  in  other  centuries  ? 

Men  believe  in  Bibles,  and  disbelieve  in  them ;  but  of  all 
Bibles  the  f rightfulest  to  disbelieve  in  is  this  "  Bible  of  Uni- 
versal History."  This  is  the  Eternal  Bible  and  God's-Book, 
"  which  every  born  man,"  till  once  the  soul  and  eyesight  are 
extinguished  in  him,  "can  and  must,  with  his  own  eyes,  see 
the  God's-Finger  writing !  "  To  discredit  this,  is  an  infidelity 
like  no  other.  Such  infidelity  you  would  punish,  if  not  by  fire 
and  fagot,  which  are  difficult  to  manage  in  our  times,  yet  by 
the  most  peremptory  order,  To  hold  its  peace  till  it  got  some- 
thing wiser  to  say.  Why  should  the  blessed  Silence  be  broken 
into  noises,  to  communicate  only  the  like  of  this  ?  If  the 
Past  have  no  God's-Reason  in  it,  nothing  but  Devil's-Unreason, 
let  the  Past  be  eternally  forgotten :  mention  it  no  more ;  — 
we  whose  ancestors  were  all  hanged,  why  should  we  talk  of 
ropes ! 

It  is,  in  brief,  not  true  that  men  ever  lived  by  Delirium, 
Hypocrisy,  Injustice,  or  any  form  of  Unreason,  since  they 
came  to  inhabit  this  Planet.  It  is  not  true  that  they  ever  did, 
or  ever  will,  live  except  by  the  reverse  of  these.  Men  will 
again  be  taught  this.  Their  acted  History  will  then  again  be 
a  Heroism ;  their  written  History,  what  it  once  was,  an  Epic. 
Nay,  forever  it  is  either  such,  or  else  it  virtually  is  —  Nothing. 
Were  it  written  in  a  thousand  volumes,  the  Unheroic  of  such 
volumes  hastens  incessantly  to  be  forgotten ;  the  net  content 
of  an  Alexandrian  Library  of  Unheroics  is,  .and  will  ultimately 
show  itself  to  be,  zero.  What  man  is  interested  to  remember 
it;  have  not  all  men,  at  .all  times,  the  liveliest  interest  to  for- 
get it?  —  "Revelations,"  if  not  celestial,  then  infernal,  will 


232  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  IV. 

teach  us  that  God  is ;  we  shall  then,  if  needful,  discern  -with- 
out difficulty  that  He  has  always  been !  The  Dryasdust  Phi- 
losophisms  and  enlightened  Scepticisms  of  the  Eighteenth 
Century,  historical  and  other,  will  have  to.  survive  for  a  while 
with  the  Physiologists,  as  a  memorable  Nightmare-Dream.  All 
this  haggard  epoch,  with  its  ghastly  Doctrines,  and  death's- 
head  Philosophies  "teaching  by  example"  or  otherwise,  will 
one  day  have  become,  what  to  our  Moslem  friends  their  god- 
less ages  are,  "  the  Period  of  Ignorance." 

If  the  convulsive  struggles  of  the  last  Half-Century  have 
taught  poor  struggling  convulsed  Europe  any  truth,  it  may 
perhaps  be  this  as  the  essence  of  innumerable  others :  That 
Europe  requires  a  real  Aristocracy,  a  real  Priesthood,  or  it 
cannot  continue  to  exist.  Huge  French  Revolutions,  Napoleon- 
isms,  then  Bourbonisms  with  their  corollary  of  Three  Days, 
finishing  in  very  unfinal  Louis-Philippisms :  all  this  ought  to 
be  didactic !  All  this  may  have  taught  us,  That  False  Aris- 
tocracies are  insupportable ;  that  No-Aristocracies,  Liberty- 
and-Equalities  are  impossible ;  that  true  Aristocracies  are  at 
once  indispensable  and  not  easily  attained. 

Aristocracy  and  Priesthood,  a  Governing  Class  and  a  Teach- 
ing Class :  these  two,  sometimes  separate,  and  endeavoring  to 
harmonize  themselves,  sometimes  conjoined  as  one,  and  the 
King  a  Pontiff-King: — there  did  no  Society  exist  without 
these  two  vital  elements,  there  will  none  exist.  It  lies  in  the 
very  nature  of  man  :  you  will  visit  no  remotest  village  in 
the  most  republican  country  of  the  world,  where  virtually  or 
actually  you  do  not  find  these  two  powers  at  work.  Man, 
little  as  he  may  suppose  it,  is  necessitated  to  obey  superiors. 
He  is  a  social  being  in  virtue  of  this  necessity ;  nay  he  could 
not  be  gregarious  otherwise.  He  obeys  those  whom  he  es- 
teems better  than  himself,  wiser,  braver;  and  will  forever 
obey  such ;  and  even  be  ready  and  delighted  to  do  it. 

The  Wiser,  Braver :  these,  a  Virtual  Aristocracy  everywhere 
and  everywhen,  do  in  all  Societies  that  reach  any  articulate 
shape,  develop  themselves  into  a  ruling  class,  an  Actual  Aris- 
tocracy, with  settled  modes  of  operating,  what  are  called  laws 


CHAP.  I.  ARISTOCRACIES.  233 

and  even  privates-laws  or  privileges,  and  so  forth ;  very  notable 
to  look  upon  in  this  world.  —  Aristocracy  and  Priesthood,  we 
say,  are  sometimes  united.  For  indeed  the  Wiser  and  the 
Braver  are  properly  but  one  class ;  no  wise  man  but  needed 
first  of  all  to  be  a  brave  man,  or  he  never  had  been  wise.  The 
noble  Priest  was  always  a  noble  Aristos  to  begin  with,  and 
something  more  to  end  with.  Your  Luther,  your  Knox,  your 
Anselm,  Becket,  Abbot  Samson,  Samuel  Johnson,  if  they  had 
not  been  brave  enough,  by  what  possibility  could  they  ever 
have  been  wise?  —  If,  from  accident  or  forethought,  this  your 
Actual  Aristocracy  have  got  discriminated  into  Two  Classes, 
there  can  be  no  doubt  but  the  Priest  Class  is  the  more  dig- 
nified; supreme  over  the  other,  as  governing  head  is  over 
active  hand.  And  yet  in  practice  again,  it  is  likeliest  the 
reverse  will  be  found  arranged ;  —  a  sign  that  the  arrangement 
is  already  vitiated;  that  a  split  is  introduced  into  it,  which 
will  widen  and  widen  till  the  whole  be  rent  asunder. 

In  England,  in  Europe  generally,  we  may  say  that  these  two 
Virtualities  have  unfolded  themselves  into  Actualities,  in  by 
far  the  noblest  and  richest  manner  any  region  of  the  world 
ever  saw.  A  spiritual  Guideship,  a  practical  Governorship, 
fruit  of  the  grand  conscious  endeavors,  say  rather  of  the  im- 
measurable unconscious  instincts  and  necessities  of  men,  have 
established  themselves ;  very  strange  to  behold.  Everywhere, 
while  so  much  has  been  forgotten,  you  find  the  King's  Palace, 
and  the  Vice-king's  Castle,  Mansion,  Manor-house  ;  till  there  is 
not  an  inch  of  ground  from  sea  to  sea  but  has  both  its  King 
and  Vice-king,  long  due  series  of  Vice-kings,  its  Squire,  Earl, 
Duke  or  whatever  the  title  of  him,  —  to  whom  you  have  given 
the  land,  that  he  may  govern  you  in  it. 

More  touching  still,  there  is  not  a  hamlet  where  poor  peasants 
congregate,  but,  by  one  means  and  another,  a  Church-Apparatus 
has  been  got  together,  —  roofed  edifice,  with  revenues  and  bel- 
fries ;  pulpit,  reading-desk,  with  Books  and  Methods :  possibil- 
ity, in  short,  and  strict  prescription.  That  a  man  stand  there 
and  speak  of  spiritual  things  to  men.  It  is  beautiful;  —  even 
in  its  great  obscuration  ami  decadence,  it  is  among  the  beauti- 
fulest,  most  touching  objects  one  sees  on  the  Earth.  This 


234  PAST   AND   PRESENT.  BOOK  IV. 

Speaking  Man  has  indeed,  in  these  times,  wandered  terribly 
from  the  point ;  has,  alas,  as  it  were,  totally  lost  sight  of  the 
point :  yet,  at  bottom,  whom  have  we  to  compare  with  him  ? 
Of  all  public  functionaries  boarded  and  lodged  on  the  Industry 
of  Modern  Europe,  is  there  one  worthier  of  the  board  he  has? 
A  man  even  professing,  and  never  so  languidly  making  still 
some  endeavor,  to  save  the  souls  of  men :  contrast  him  with  a 
man  professing  to  do  little  but  shoot  the  partridges  of  men ! 
I  wish  he  coidd  find  the  point  again,  this  Speaking  One ;  and 
stick  to  it  with  tenacity,  with  deadly  energy ;  for  there  is  need 
of  him  yet !  The  Speaking  Function,  this  of  Truth  corning 
to  us  with  a  living  voice,  nay  in  a  living  shape,  and  as  a  con- 
crete practical  exemplar :  this,  with  all  our  Writing  and  Print- 
ing Functions,  has  a  perennial  place.  Could  he  but  find  the 
point  again,  —  take  the  old  spectacles  off  his  nose,  and  looking 
up  discover,  almost  in  contact  with  him,  what  the  real  Satanas, 
and  soul-devouring,  world-devouring  Devil,  now  is  !  Original 
Sin  and  such  like  are  bad  enough,  I  doubt  not :  but  distilled 
Gin,  dark  Ignorance,  Stupidity,  dark  Corn-Law,  Bastille  and 
Company,  what  are  they  !  Will  he  discover  our  new  real 
Satan,  whom  he  has  to  fight ;  or  go  on  droning  through  his  old 
nose-spectacles  about  old  extinct  Satans;  and  never  see  the 
real  one,  till  he  feel  him  at  his  own  throat  and  ours  ?  That 
is  a  question,  for  the  world !  Let  us  not  intermeddle  with  it 
here. 

Sorrowful,  phantasmal  as  this  same  Double  Aristocracy  of 
Teachers  and  Governors  now  looks,  it  is  worth  all  men's  while 
to  know  that  the  purport  of  it  is  and  remains  noble  and  most 
real.  Dryasdust,  looking  merely  at  the  surface,  is  greatly  in 
error  as  to  those  ancient  Kings.  William  Conqueror,  William 
Rufus  or  Redbeard.  Stephen  Curthose  himself,  much  more 
Henry  Beauclerc  and  our  brave  Plantagenet  Henry :  the  life 
of  these  men  was  not  a  vulturous  Fighting ;  it  was  a  valorous 
Governing,  —  to  which  occasionally  Fighting  did,  and  alas 
must  yet,  though  far  seldomer  now,  snperadd  itself  as  an  acci- 
dent, a  distressing  impedimental  adjunct.  The  fighting  too 
was  indispensable,  for  ascertaining  who  had  the  might  over 
whom,  the  right  over  whom.  By  much  hard  lighting,  as  we 


CHAP.  I.  ARISTOCRACIES.  2;]5 

once  said,  "the  unrealities,  beaten  into  dust,  flew  gradually 
off ; "  and  left  the  plain  reality  and  fact,  "  Thou  stronger  than 
I ;  thou  wiser  than  I ;  thou  king,  and  subject  I,"  in  a  some- 
what clearer  condition. 

Truly  we  cannot  enough  admire,  in  those  Abbot-Samson  and 
William-Conqueror  times,  the  arrangement  they  had  made  of 
their  Governing  Classes.  Highly  interesting  to  observe  how 
the  sincere  insight,  on  their  part,  into  what  did,  of  primary 
necessity,  behoove  to  be  accomplished,  had  led  them  to  the 
way  of  accomplishing  it,  and  in  the  course  of  time  to  get  it 
accomplished  !  No  imaginary  Aristocracy  would  serve  their 
turn  ;  and  accordingly  they  attained  a  real  one.  The  Bravest 
men,  who,  it  is  ever  to  be  repeated  and  remembered,  are  also 
on  the  whole  the  Wisest,  Strongest,  every -way  Best,  had  here, 
with  a  respectable  degree  of  accuracy,  been  got  selected ; 
seated  each  on  his  piece  of  territory,  which  was  lent  him,  then 
gradually  given  him,  that  he  might  govern  it.  These  Vice- 
kings,  each  on  his  portion  of  the  common  soil  of  England,  with 
a  Head  King  over  all,  were  a  "Virtuality  perfected  into  an 
Actuality  "  really  to  an  astonishing  extent. 

For  those  were  rugged  stalwart  ages ;  full  of  earnestness, 
of  a  rude  God's-truth  :  —  nay,  at  any  rate,  their  quilting  was 
so  unspeakably  thinner  than  ours  ;  Fact  came  swiftly  on  them, 
if  at  any  time  they  had  yielded  to  Phantasm  !  "  The  Knaves 
and  Dastards"  had  to  be  "arrested  "  in  some  measure  ;  or  the 
world,  almost  within  year  and  day,  found  that  it  could  not 
live.  The  Knaves  and  Dastards  accordingly  were  got  arrested. 
Dastards  upon  the  very  throne  had  to  be  got  arrested,  and 
taken  off  the  throne,  —  by  such  methods  as  there  were ;  by 
the  roughest  method,  if  there  chanced  to  be  no  smoother  one  ! 
Doubtless  there  was  much  harshness  of  operation,  much  se- 
verity ;  as  indeed  government  and  surgery  are  often  some- 
what severe.  Gurth,  born  thrall  of  Cedric,  it  is  like,  got  cuffs 
as  often  as  pork-parings,  if  he  misdemeaned  himself;  but  Gurth 
did  belong  to  Cedric  :  no  human  creature  then  went  about  con- 
nected with  nobody  ;  left  to  go  his  way  into  Bastilles  or  worse, 
under  Laissez-faire  :  reduced  to  prove  his  relationship  by 
dying  of  typhus-fever !  —  Days  come  when  there  is  no  King  in 


236  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  IV. 

Israel,  but  every  man  is  his  own  king,  doing  that  which  is  right 
in  his  own  eyes  ;  —  and  tar-barrels  are  burnt  to  "  Liberty," 
"  Tenpound  Franchise  "  and  the  like,  with  considerable  effect 
in  various  ways  !  — 

That  Feudal  Aristocracy,  I  say,  was  no  imaginary  one.  To 
a  respectable  degree,  its  Jarls,  what  we  now  call  Earls,  were 
Strong-Ones  in  fact  as  well  as  etymology  ;  its  Dukes  Leaders  ; 
its  Lords  Law-wards.  They  did  all  the  Soldiering  and  Police 
of  the  country,  all  the  Judging,  Law-making,  even  the  Church- 
Extension  ;  whatsoever  in  the  way  of  Governing,  of  Guiding 
and  Protecting  could  be  done.  It  was  a  Land  Aristocracy  ;  it 
managed  the  Governing  of  this  English  People,  and  had  the 
reaping  of  the  Soil  of  England  in  return.  It  is,  in  many 
senses,  the  Law  of  Nature,  this  same  Law  of  Feudalism :  — no 
right  Aristocracy  but  a  Land  one  !  The  curious  are  invited  to 
meditate  upon  it  in  these  days.  Soldiering,  Police  and  Judg- 
ing, Church-Extension,  nay  real  Government  and  Guidance,  all 
this  was  actually  done  by  the  Holders  of  the  Land  in  return 
for  their  Land.  How  much  of  it  is  now  done  by  them  ;  done 
by  anybody  ?  Good  Heavens,  "  Laissez-faire,  Do  ye  nothing, 
eat  your  wages  and  sleep,"  is  everywhere  the  passionate  half- 
wise  cry  of  this  time ;  and  they  will  not  so  much  as  do  nothing, 
but  must  do  mere  Corn-Laws !  We  raise  Fifty-two  millions, 
from  the  general  mass  of  us,  to  get  our  Governing  done  —  or, 
alas,  to  get  ourselves  persuaded  that  it  is  done  :  and  the  "  pe- 
culiar burden  of  the  Land  "  is  to  pay,  not  all  this,  but  to  pay,  as 
I  learn,  one  twenty-fourth  part  of  all  this.  Our  first  Chartist 
Parliament,  or  Oliver  Redivivus,  you  would  say,  will  know 
where  to  lay  the  new  taxes  of  England !  —  Or,  alas,  taxes  ? 
If  we  made  the  Holders  of  the  Land  pay  every  shilling  still 
of  the  expense  of  Governing  the  Land,  what  were  all  that  ? 
The  Land,  by  mere  hired  Governors,  cannot  be  got  governed. 
You  cannot  hire  men  to  govern  the  Land  :  it  is  by  a  mission 
not  contracted  for  in  the  Stock-Exchange,  but  felt  in  their  own 
hearts  as  coming  out  of  Heaven,  that  men  can  govern  a  Land. 
The  mission  of  a  Land  Aristocracy  is  a  sacred  one,  in  both  the 
senses  of  that  old  word.  The  footing  it  stands  on,  at  present, 
might  give  rise  to  thoughts  other  than  of  Corn-Laws  !  — 


CHAT.  I.  ARISTOCRACIES.  237 

But  truly  a  "  Splendor  of  God,"  as  in  William  Conqueror's 
rough  oath,  did  dwell  in  those  old  rude  veracious  ages ;  did  in- 
form, more  and  more,  with  a  heavenly  nobleness,  all  depart- 
ments of  their  work  and  life.  Phantasms  could  not  yet  walk 
abroad  in  mere  Cloth  Tailorage  ;  they  were  at  least  Phantasms 
"on  the  rim  of  the  horizon,"  pencilled  there  by  an  eternal 
Light-beam  from  within.  A  most  "  practical "  Hero-worship 
went  on,  unconsciously  or  half-coiisciously,  everywhere.  A 
Monk  Samson,  with  a  maximum  of  two  shillings  in  his  pocket, 
could,  without  ballot-box,  be  made  a  Vice-king  of,  being  seen 
to  be  worthy.  The  difference  between  a  good  man  and  a  bad 
man  was  as  yet  felt  to  be,  what  it  forever  is,  an  immeasurable 
one.  Who  durst  have  elected  a  Pandarus  Dogdraught,  in  those 
days,  to  any  office,  Carlton  Club,  Senatorship,  or  place  what- 
soever ?  It  was  felt  that  the  arch  Satanas  and  no  other  had  a 
clear  right  of  property  in  Paudarus ;  that  it  were  better  for 
you  to  have  no  hand  in  Pandarus,  to  keep  out  of  Pandarus  his 
neighborhood  !  Which  is,  to  this  hour,  the  mere  fact ;  though 
for  the  present,  alas,  the  forgotten  fact.  I  think  they  were 
comparatively  blessed  times  those,  in  their  way  !  "  Violence," 
"  war,"  "  disorder  :  "  well,  what  is  war,  and  death  itself,  to  such 
a  perpetual  life-in-death,  and  "  peace,  peace,  where  there  is 
no  peace " !  Unless  some  Hero-worship,  in  its  new  appro- 
priate form,  can  return,  this  world  does  not  promise  to  be  very 
habitable  long. 

Old  Anselm,  exiled  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  one  of  the 
purest-minded  "  men  of  genius,"  was  travelling  to  make  his 
appeal  to  Rome  against  King  Rufus,  —  a  man  of  rough  ways, 
in  whom  the  "  inner  Light-beam  "  shone  very  fitfully.  It  is 
beautiful  to  road,  in  Monk  Eadmer,  how  the  Continental  popu- 
lations welcomed  and  venerated  this  Anselm,  as  no  French 
population  now  venerates  Jean-Jacques  or  giant-killing  Vol- 
taire ;  as  not  even  an  American  population  now  venerates  a 
Schnuspel  the  distinguished  Novelist !  They  had,  by  phantasy 
and  true  insight,  the  intensest  conviction  that  a  God's-Blessing 
dwelt  in  this  Anselm,  —  as  is  my  conviction  too.  They 
crowded  round,  with  bent  knees  and  enkindled  hearts,  to  re- 
ceive his  blessing,  to  hear  his  voice,  to  see  the  light  of  his 


238  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  IV. 

face.  My  blessings  on  them  and  on  him  !  —  But  the  notablest 
was  a  certain  necessitous  or  covetous  Duke  of  Burgundy,  in 
straitened  circumstances  we  shall  hope,  —  who  reflected  that 
in  all  likelihood  this  English  Archbishop,  going  towards  Home 
to  appeal,  must  have  taken  store  of  cash  with  him  to  bribe  the 
Cardinals.  Wherefore  he  of  Burgundy,  for  his  part,  decided, 
to  lie  in  wait  and  rob  him.  "  In  an  open  space  of  a  wood," 
some  "  wood  "  then  green  and  growing,  eight  centuries  ago,  in 
Burgundian  Land,  —  this  fierce  Duke,  with  fierce  steel  follow- 
ers, shaggy,  savage,  as  the  Russian  bear,  dashes  out  on  the 
weak  old  Anselm ;  who  is  riding  along  there,  on  his  small 
quiet-going  pony ;  escorted  only  by  Eadmer  and  another  poor 
Monk  on  ponies ;  and,  except  small  modicum  of  road-money, 
not  a  gold  coin  in  his  possession.  The  steel-clad  Russian  bear 
emerges,  glaring  :  the  old  white-bearded  man  starts  not,  — 
paces  on  unmoved,  looking  into  him  with  those  clear  old  ear- 
nest eyes,  with  that  venerable  sorrowful  time-worn  face ;  of 
whom  no  man  or  thing  need  be  afraid,  and  who  also  is  afraid 
of  no  created  man  or  thing.  The  fire-eyes  of  his  Burgundian 
Grace  meet  these  clear  eye-glances,  convey  them  swift  to  his 
heart :  he  bethinks  him  that  probably  this  feeble,  fearless, 
hoary  Figure  lias  in  it  something  of  the  Most  High  God  ;  that 
probably  he  shall  be  damned  if  he  meddle  with  it,  —  that,  on 
the  whole,  he  had  better  not.  He  plunges,  the  rough  savage, 
from  his  war-horse,  down  to  his  knees;  embraces  the  feet  of 
old  Anselm:  he  too  begs  his  blessing;  orders  men  to  escort 
him,  guard  him  from  being  robbed,  and  under  dread  penalties 
see  him  safe  on  his  way.  Per  os  Dei,  as  his  Majesty  was  wont 
to  ejaculate  ! 

Neither  is  this  quarrel  of  Rufus  and  Anselm,  of  Henry  and 
Becket,  uninstructive  to  us.  It  was,  at  bottom,  a  great  quarrel. 
For,  admitting  that  Anselm  was  full  of  divine  blessing,  he  by 
no  means  included  in  him  all  forms  of  divine  blessing :  —  there 
were  far  other  forms  withal,  which  he  little  dreamed  of;  and 
William  Redbeard  was  unconsciously  the  representative  and 
spokesman  of  these.  In  truth,  could  your  divine  Anselm,  your 
divine  Pope  Gregory  have  had  their  way,  the  results  had  been 
very  notable.  Our  Western  World  had  all  become  a  European 


CHAP.  I.  ARISTOCRACIES.  230 

Thibet,  with  one  Grand  Lama  sitting  at  Rome ;  our  one  hon- 
orable business  that  of  singing  mass,  all  day  and  all  night. 
Which  would  not  in  the  least  have  suited  us  !  The  Supreme 
Powers  willed  it  not  so. 

It  was  as  if  King  Redbeard  unconsciously,  addressing  An- 
selin,  Becket  and  the  others,  had  said  :  "  Right  Reverend, 
your  Theory  of  the  Universe  is  indisputable  by  man  or  devil. 
To  the  core  of  our  heart  we  feel  that  this  divine  thing,  which 
}rou  call  Mother  Church,  does  till  the  whole  world  hitherto 
known,  and  is  and  shall  be  all  our  salvation  and  all  our  desire. 
And  yet  —  and  yet  —  Behold,  though  it  is  an  unspoken  secret, 
the  world  is  wider  than  any  of  us  think,  Right  Reverend  ! 
Behold,  there  are  yet  other  immeasurable  Sacrednesses  in  this 
that  you  call  Heathenism,  Secularity  !  On  the  whole,  I,  in  an 
obscure  but  most  rooted  manner,  feel  that  I  cannot  comply 
with  you.  Western  Thibet  and  perpetual  mass-chanting, — 
No.  I  am,  so  to  speak,  in  the  family-way  ;  with  child,  of  I 
know  not  what,  —  certainly  of  something  far  different  from 
this  !  I  have  —  Per  os  Dei,  I  have  Manchester  Cotton-trades, 
Bromwicham  Iron-trades,  American  Commonwealths,  Indian 
Empires,  Steam  Mechanisms  and  Shakspeare  Dramas,  in  my 
belly  ;  and  cannot  do  it,  Right  Reverend  !  "  —  So  accordingly 
it  was  decided  :  and  Saxon  Becket  spilt  his  life  in  Canter- 
bury Cathedral,  as  Scottish  Wallace  did  on  Tower-Hill,  and  as 
generally  a  noble  man  and  martyr  has  to  do,  —  not  for  noth- 
ing ;  no,  but  for  a  divine  something  other  than  he  had  alto- 
gether calculated.  We  will  now  quit  this  of  the  hard,  organic, 
but  limited  Feudal  Ages  ;  and  glance  timidly  into  the  immense 
Industrial  Ages,  as  yet  all  inorganic,  and  in  a  quite  pulpy  con- 
dition, requiring  desperately  to  harden  themselves  into  some 
organism ! 

Our  Epic  having  now  become  Tools  and  the  Man,  it  is  more 
than  usually  impossible  to  prophesy  the  Future.  The  bound- 
less Future  does  lie  there,  predestined,  nay  already  extant 
though  unseen ;  hiding,  in  its  Continents  of  Darkness,  "  glad- 
ness and  sorrow  :  "  but  the  supremest  intelligence  of  man  can- 
not prefigure  much  of  it :  —  the  united  intelligence  and  effort 
of  All  Men  in  all  coming  generations,  this  alone  will  gradually 


240  PAST  AND   PRESENT.  BOOK  IT. 

prefigure  it,  and  figure  and  form  it  into  a  seen  fact !  Straining 
our  eyes  hitherto,  the  utmost  effort  of  intelligence  sheds  but 
some  most  glimmering  dawn,  a  little  way  into  its  dark  enor- 
mous Deeps  :  only  huge  outlines  loom  uncertain  on  the  sight ; 
and  the  ray  of  prophecy,  at  a  short  distance,  expires.  But 
may  we  not  say,  here  as  always,  Sufficient  for  the  day  is  the 
evil  thereof  !  To  shape  the  whole  Future  is  not  our  problem  ; 
but  only  to  shape  faithfully  a  small  part  of  it,  according  to 
rules  already  known.  It  is  perhaps  possible  for  each  of  us 
who  will  with  due  earnestness  inquire,  to  ascertain  clearly 
what  he,  for  his  own  part,  ought  to  do :  this  let  him,  with 
true  heart,  do,  and  continue  doing.  The  general  issue  will, 
as  it  has  always  done,  rest  well  with  a  Higher  Intelligence 
than  ours. 

One  grand  "outline,"  or  even  two,  many  earnest  readers 
may  perhaps,  at  this  stage  of  the  business,  be  able  to  prefigure 
for  themselves,  —  and  draw  some  guidance  from.  One  predic- 
tion, or  even  two,  are  already  possible.  For  the  Life-tree 
Igdrasil,  in  all  its  new  developments,  is  the  self-same  world- 
old  Life-tree  :  having  found  an  element  or  elements  there, 
running  from  the  very  roots  of  it  in  Hela's  Realms,  in  the 
Well  of  Mimer  and  of  the  Three  Nornas  or  TIMES,  up  to  this 
present  hour  of  it  in  our  own  hearts,  we  conclude  that  such 
will  have  to  continue.  A  man  has,  in  his  own  soul,  an  Eter- 
nal ;  can  read  something  of  the  Eternal  there,  if  he  will  look ! 
He  already  knows  what  will  continue  ;  what  cannot,  by  any 
means  or  appliance  whatsoever,  be  made  to  continue  ! 

One  wide  and  widest  "  outline  "  ought  really,  in  all  ways,  to 
be  becoming  clear  to  us  ;  this  namely :  That  a  "  Splendor  of 
God,"  in  one  form  or  other,  will  have  to  unfold  itself  from  the. 
heart  of  these  our  Industrial  Ages  too  ;  or  they  will  never  get 
themselves  "organized;"  but  continue  chaotic,  distressed,  dis- 
tracted evermore,  and  have  to  perish  in  frantic  suicidal  disso- 
lution. A  second  "  outline  "  or  prophecy,  narrower,  but  also 
wide  enough,  seems  not  less  certain  :  That  there  will  again 
be  a  King  in  Israel ;  a  system  of  Order  and  Government ;  and 
every  man  shall,  in  some  measxire,  see  himself  constrained  to 
do  that  which  is  right  in  the  King's  eyes.  This  too  we  may 


CHAP.  I.  ARISTOCRACIES.  241 

call  a  sure  element  of  the  Future ;  for  this  too  is  of  the  Eter- 
nal ;  —  this  too  is  of  the  Present,  though  hidden  from  most ; 
and  without  it  no  fibre  of  the  Past  ever  was.  An  actual  new 
Sovereignty,  Industrial  Aristocracy,  real  not  imaginary  Aris- 
tocracy, is  indispensable  and  indubitable  for  us. 

But  what  an  Aristocracy ;  on  what  new,  far  more  complex 
and  cunningly  devised  conditions  than  that  old  Feudal  fighting 
one  !  For  we  are  to  bethink  us  that  the  Epic  verily  is  not 
Arms  and  the  Man,  but  Took  and  the  Man,  —  an  infinitely 
wider  kind  of  Epic.  And  again  we  are  to  bethink  us  that  men 
cannot  now  be  bound  to  men  by  brass-collars,  —  not  at  all : 
that  this  brass-collar  method,  in  all  figures  of  it,  has  vanished 
out  of  Europe  forevermore  !  Huge  Democracy,  walking  the 
streets  everywhere  in  its  Sack  Coat,  has  asserted  so  much ; 
irrevocably,  brooking  no  reply  !  True  enough,  man  is  forever 
the  "  born  thrall "  of  certain  men,  born  master  of  certain  other 
men,  born  equal  of  certain  others,  let  him  acknowledge  the 
fact  or  not.  It  is  unblessed  for  him  when  he  cannot  acknowl- 
edge this  fact ;  he  is  in  the  chaotic  state,  ready  to  perish,  till 
he  do  get  the  fact  acknowledged.  But  no  man  is,  or  can 
henceforth  be,  the  brass-collar  thrall  of  any  man ;  you  will 
have  to  bind  him  by  other,  far  nobler  and  cunninger  methods. 
Once  for  all,  he  is  to  be  loose  of  the  brass-collar,  to  have  a 
scope  as  wide  as  his  faculties  now  are :  —  will  he  not  be  all 
the  usefuler  to  you  in  that  new  state  ?  Let  him  go  abroad  as 
a  trusted  one,  as  a  free  one ;  and  return  home  to  you  with  rich 
earnings  at  night !  Gurth  could  only  tend  pigs  ;  this  one  will 
build  cities,  conquer  waste  worlds.  —  How,  in  conjunction  with 
inevitable  Democracy,  indispensable  Sovereignty  is  to  exist : 
certainly  it  is  the  hugest  question  ever  heretofore  propounded 
to  Mankind !  The  solution  of  which  is  work  for  long  years 
and  centuries.  Years  and  centuries,  of  one  knows  not  what 
complexion  ;  —  blessed  or  unblessed,  according  as  they  shall, 
with  earnest  valiant  effort,  make  progress  therein,  or,  in 
slothful  unveracity  and  dilettantism,  only  talk  of  making 
progress.  For  either  progress  therein,  or  swift  and  ever 
swifter  progress  towards  dissolution,  is  henceforth  a  neces- 
sity. 

VOL.   XII.  16 


242  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  IV. 

It  is  of  importance  that  ttiis  grand  reformation  were  begun  ; 
that  Corn-Law  Debatings  and  other  jargon,  little  less  than 
delirious  in  such  a  time,  had  fled  far  away,  and  left  us  room 
to  begin !  For  the  evil  has  grown  practical,  extremely  con- 
spicuous ;  if  it  be  not  seen  and  provided  for,  the  blindest  fool 
will  have  to  feel  it  ere  long.  There  is  much  that  can  wait ; 
but  there  is  something  also  that  cannot  wait.  With  millions 
of  eager  Working  Men  imprisoned  in  "  Impossibility "  and 
Poor-Law  Bastilles,  it  is  time  that  some  means  of  dealing  with 
them  were  trying  to  become  "  possible  "  !  Of  the  Government 
of  England,  of  all  articulate-speaking  functionaries,  real  and 
imaginary  Aristocracies,  of  me  and  of  thee,  it  is  imperatively 
demanded,  "  How  do  you  mean  to  manage  these  men  ?  Where 
are  they  to  find  a  supportable  existence  ?  What  is  to  become 
of  them,  —  and  of  you ! " 


CHAPTEE  II. 

BRIBERY    COMMITTEE. 

IN  the  case  of  the  late  Bribery  Committee,  it  seemed  to  be 
the  conclusion  of  the  soundest  practical  minds  that  Bribery 
could  not  be  put  down ;  that  Pure  Election  was  a  thing  we 
had  seen  the  last  of,  and  must  now  go  on  without,  as  we  best 
could.  A  conclusion  not  a  little  startling ;  to  which  it  re- 
quires a  practical  mind  of  some  seasoning  to  reconcile  yourself 
at  once !  It  seems,  then,  we  are  henceforth  to  get  ourselves 
constituted  Legislators  not  according  to  what  merit  we  may 
have,  or  even  what  merit  we  may  seem  to  have,  but  according 
to  the  length  of  our  purse,  and  our  frankness,  impudence  and 
dexterity  in  laying  out  the  contents  of  the  same.  Our  the- 
ory, written  down  in  all  books  and  law-books,  spouted  forth 
from  all  barrel-heads,  is  perfect  purity  of  Tenpound  Franchise, 
absolute  sincerity  of  question  put  and  answer  given  ;  —  and  our 
practice  is  irremediable  bribery ;  irremediable,  unpunishable, 
which  you  will  do  more  harm  than  good  by  attempting  to  pun- 


CHAP.  II.  BRIBERY   COMMITTEE.  243 

ish !  Once  more,  a  very  startling  conclusion  indeed ;  which,  what- 
ever the  soundest  practical  minds  in  Parliament  may  think  of 
it  invites  all  British  men  to  meditations  of  various  kinds. 

A  Parliament,  one  would  say,  which  proclaims  itself  elected 
and  eligible  by  bribery,  tells  the  Nation  that  is  governed  by 
it  a  piece  of  singular  news.  Bribery  :  have  we  reflected  what 
bribery  is  ?  Bribery  means  not  only  length  of  purse,  which  is 
neither  qualification  nor  the  contrary  for  legislating  well ;  but 
it  means  dishonesty,  and  even  impudent  dishonesty  ;  —  brazen 
insensibility  to  lying  and  to  making  others  lie ;  total  oblivion, 
and  flinging  overboard,  for  the  nonce,  of  any  real  thing  you 
can  call  veracity,  morality;  with  dexterous  putting-on  the 
cast-clothes  of  that  real  thing,  and  strutting  about  in  them! 
What  Legislating  can  you  get  out  of  a  man  in  that  fatal  situa- 
tion ?  None  that  will  profit  much,  one  would  think !  A 
Legislator  who  has  left  his  veracity  lying  on  the  door-thresh- 
old, he,  why  verily  he — ought  to  be  sent  out  to  seek  it 
again ! 

Heavens,  what  an  improvement,  were  there  once  fairly  in 
Downing  Street  an  Election-Office  opened,  with  a  tariff  of 
Boroughs  !  Such  and  such  a  population,  amount  of  property- 
tax,  ground-rental,  extent  of  trade ;  returns  two  Members,  re- 
turns one  Member,  for  so  much  money  down :  Ipswich  so  many 
thousands,  Nottingham  so  many,  —  as  they  happened,  one  by 
one,  to  fall  into  this  new  Downing-Street  Schedule  A !  An 
incalculable  improvement,  in  comparison  :  for  now  at  least  you 
have  it  fairly  by  length  of  purse,  and  leave  the  dishonesty,  the 
impudence,  the  unveracity  all  handsomely  aside.  Length  of 
purse  and  desire  to  be  a  Legislator  ought  to  get  a  man  into 
Parliament,  not  ivith,  but  if  possible  without  the  unveracity, 
the  impudence  and  the  dishonesty  !  Length  of  purse  and  de- 
sire, these  are,  as  intrinsic  qualifications,  correctly  equal  to 
zero ;  but  they  are  not  yet  less  than  zero,  —  as  the  smallest 
addition  of  that  latter  sort  will  make  them ! 

And  is  it  come  to  this  ?  And  does  our  venerable  Parliament 
announce  itself  elected  and  eligible  in  this  manner  ?  Surely 
such  a  Parliament  promulgates  strange  horoscopes  of  itself. 
What  is  to  become  of  a  Parliament  elected  or  eligible  in  ttui 


244  PAST   AND   PRESENT.  BOOK  IV. 

manner  ?  Unless  Belial  and  Beelzebub  have  got  possession  of 
the  throne  of  this  Universe,  such  Parliament  is  preparing  it- 
self for  new  Keforni-bills.  We  shall  have  to  try  it  by  Chart- 
isin,  or  any  conceivable  ism,  rather  than  put  up  with  this ! 
There  is  already  in  England  "religion"  enough  to  get  six 
hundred  and  fifty-eight  Consulting  Men  brought  together  who 
do  not  begin  work  with  a  lie  in  their  mouth.  Our  poor  old 
Parliament,  thousands  of  years  old,  is  still  good  for  some- 
thing, for  several  things ;  —  though  many  are  beginning  to 
ask,  with  ominous  anxiety,  in  these  days :  For  what  thing  ? 
But  for  whatever  thing  and  things  Parliament  be  good,  indis- 
putably it  must  start  with  other  than  a  lie  in  its  mouth !  On 
the  whole,  a  Parliament  working  with  a  lie  in  its  mouth,  will 
have  to  take  itself  away.  To  no  Parliament  or  thing,  that  one 
has  heard  of,  did  this  Universe  ever  long  yield  harbor  on  that 
footing.  At  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night,  some  Chartism  is 
advancing,  some  armed  Cromwell  is  advancing,  to  apprise 
such  Parliament :  "  Ye  are  no  Parliament.  In  the  name  of 
God,  —  go ! " 

In  sad  truth,  once  more,  how  is  our  whole  existence,  in  these 
present  days,  built  on  Cant,  Speciosity,  Falsehood,  Dilettant- 
ism ;  with  this  one  serious  Veracity  in  it :  Mainmonism ! 
Dig  down  where  you  will,  through  the  Parliament-floor  or  else- 
where, how  infallibly  do  you,  at  spade's  depth  below  the  sur- 
face, come  upon  this  universal  Liars-rock  substratum  !  Much 
else  is  ornamental ;  true  on  barrel-heads,  in  pulpits,  hustings, 
Parliamentary  benches ;  but  this  is  forever  true  and  truest : 
"  Money  does  bring  money's  worth ;  Put  money  in  your  purse." 
Here,  if  nowhere  else,  is  the  human  soul  still  in  thorough  ear. 
nest ;  sincere  with  a  prophet's  sincerity  :  and  "  the  Hell  of  the 
English,"  as  Sauerteig  said,  "  is  the  infinite  terror  of  Not  get- 
ting on,  especially  of  Not  making  money."  With  results  ! 

To  many  persons  the  horoscope  of  Parliament  is  more 
interesting  than  to  me :  but  surely  all  men  with  souls  must 
admit  that  sending  members  to  Parliament  by  bribery  is  an 
infamous  solecism ;  an  act  entirely  immoral,  which  no  man 
can  have  to  do  with  more  or  less,  but  he  will  soil  his  fingers 
more  or  less.  No  Carlton  Clubs,  Reform  Clubs,  nor  any  sort 


CHAP.  II.  BRIBERY   COMMITTEE.  245 

of  clubs  or  creatures,  or  of  accredited  opinions  or  practices, 
can  make  a  Lie  Truth,  can  make  Bribery  a  Propriety.  The 
Parliament  should  really  either  punish  and  put  away  Bribery, 
or  legalize  it  by  some  Office  in  Downing  Street.  As  I  read 
the  Apocalypses,  a  Parliament  that  can  do  neither  of  these 
things  is  not  in  a  good  way.  —  And  yet,  alas,  what  of  Par- 
liaments and  their  Elections  ?  Parliamentary  Elections  are 
but  the  topmost  ultimate  outcome  of  an  electioneering  which 
goes  on  at  all  hours,  in  all  places,  in  every  meeting  of  two  or 
more  men.  It  is  we  that  vote  wrong,  and  teach  the  poor 
ragged  Freemen  of  Boroughs  to  vote  wrong.  We  pay  respect 
to  those  worthy  of  no  respect. 

Is  not  Pandarus  Dogdraught  a  member  of  select  clubs,  and 
admitted  into  the  drawing-rooms  of  men  ?  Visibly  to  all 
persons  he  is  of  the  offal  of  Creation ;  but  he  carries  money  in 
his  purse,  due  lacquer  on  his  dog-visage,  and  it  is  believed 
will  not  steal  spoons.  The  human  species  does  not  with  one 
voice,  like  the  Hebrew  Psalmist,  "  shun  to  sit "  with  Dog- 
draught,  refuse  totally  to  dine  with  Dogdraught ;  men  called 
of  honor  are  willing  enough  to  dine  with  him,  his  talk  being 
lively,  and  his  champagne  excellent.  We  say  to  ourselves, 
"  The  man  is  in  good  society,"  —  others  have  already  voted 
for  him  ;  why  should  not  I  ?  We  foryet  the  indefeasible  right 
of  property  that  Satan  has  in  Dogdraught, — we  are  not  afraid 
to  be  near  Dogdraught !  It  is  we  that  vote  wrong ;  blindly, 
nay  with  falsity  prepense  !  It  is  we  that  no  longer  know  the 
difference  between  Human  Worth  and  Human  Unworth  ;  or 
feel  that  the  one  is  admirable  and  alone  admirable,  the  other 
detestable,  damnable  !  How  shall  we,  find  out  a  Hero  and 
Vice-king  Samson  with  a  maximum  of  two  shillings  in  his 
pocket  ?  We  have  no  chance  to  do  such  a  thing.  We  have 
got  out  of  the  Ages  of  Heroism,  deep  into  the  Ages  of 
Flunkyism,  —  and  must  return  or  die.  What  a  noble  set  of 
mortals  are  we,  who,  because  there  is  no  Saint  Edmund 
threatening  us  at  the  rim  of  the  horizon,  are  not  afraid  to  be 
whatever,  for  the  day  and  hour,  is  smoothest  for  us  ! 

And  now,  in  good  sooth,  why  should  an  indigent  discerning 
Freeman  give  his  vote  without  bribes  ?  Let  us  rather  honor 


246  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  IV. 

the  poor  man  that  he  does  discern  clearly  wherein  lies,  for 
him,  the  true  kernel  of  the  matter.  "What  is  it  to  the  ragged 
grimy  Freeman  of  a  Tenpound-Franchise  Borough,  whether 
Aristides  Rigmarole  Esq.  of  the  Destructive,  or  the  Hon. 
Alcides  Dolittle  of  the  Conservative  Party  be  sent  to  Parlia- 
ment ;  —  much  more,  whether  the  two-thousandth  part  of 
them  be  sent,  for  that  is  the  amount  of  his  faculty  in  it  ? 
Destructive  or  Conservative,  what  will  either  of  them  destroy 
or  conserve  of  vital  moment  to  this  Freeman  ?  Has  he  found 
either  of  them  care,  at  bottom,  a  sixpence  for  him  or  his 
interests,  or  those  of  his  class  or  of  his  cause,  or  of  any  class 
or  cause  that  is  of  much  value  to  God  or  to  man  ?  Rigmarole 
and  Dolittle  have  alike  cared  for  themselves  hitherto  ;  and  for 
their  own  clique,  and  self-conceited  crotchets,  —  their  greasy 
dishonest  interests  of  pudding,  or  windy  dishonest  interests 
of  praise ;  and  not  very  perceptibly  for  any  other  interest 
whatever.  Neither  Rigmarole  nor  Dolittle  will  accomplish 
any  good  or  any  evil  for  this  grimy  Freeman,  like  giving  him 
a  five  pound  note,  or  refusing  to  give  it  him.  It  will  be 
smoothest  to  vote  according  to  value  received.  That  is  the 
veritable  fact ;  and  he  indigent,  like  others  that  are  not  in- 
digent, acts  conformably  thereto. 

Why,  reader,  truly,  if  they  asked  thee  or  me,  Which  way 
we  meant  to  vote  ?  —  were  it  not  our  likeliest  answer  :  Neither 
way !  I,  as  a  Tenpound  Franchiser,  will  receive  no  bribe  ;  but 
also  I  will  not  vote  for  either  of  these  men.  Neither  Rigma- 
role nor  Dolittle  shall,  by  furtherance  of  mine,  go  and  make 
laws  for  this  country.  I  will  have  no  hand  in  such  a  mission. 
How  dare  I !  If  other  men  cannot  be  got  in  England,  a 
totally  other  sort  of  men,  different  as  light  is  from  dark,  as 
star-fire  is  from  street-mud,  what  is  the  use  of  votings,  or  of 
Parliaments  in  England  ?  England  ought  to  resign  herself ; 
there  is  no  hope  or  possibility  for  England.  If  England  can- 
not get  her  Knaves  and  Dastards  "  arrested,"  in  some  degree, 
but  only  get  them  "  elected,"  what  is  to  become  of  England  ? 

I  conclude,  with  all  confidence,  that  England  will  verily 
have  to  put  an  end  to  briberies  on  her  Election  Hustings 


CHAP.  HI.  THE  ONE  INSTITUTION.  247 

and  elsewhere,  at  what  cost  soever ;  —  and  likewise  that  we, 
Electors  and  Eligibles,  one  and  all  of  us,  for  our  own  behoof 
and  hers,  cannot  too  soon  begin,  at  what  cost  soever,  to  put  an 
end  to  bribeabilities  in  ourselves.  The  death-leprosy,  attacked 
in  this  manner,  by  purifying  lotions  from  without  and  by 
rallying  of  the  vital  energies  and  purities  from  within,  will 
probably  abate  somewhat !  It  has  otherwise  no  chance  to 
abate. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE   ONE   INSTITUTION. 

WHAT  our  Government  can  do  in  this  grand  Problem  of 
the  Working  Classes  of  England  ?  Yes,  supposing  the  insane 
Corn-Laws  totally  abolished,  all  speech  of  them  ended,  and 
"  from  ten  to  twenty  years  of  new  possibility  to  live  and  find 
wages  "  conceded  us  in  consequence  :  What  the  English  Govern- 
ment might  be  expected  to  accomplish  or  attempt  towards  ren- 
dering the  existence  of  our  Laboring  Millions  somewhat  less 
anomalous,  somewhat  less  impossible,  in  the  years  that  are 
to  follow  those  "  ten  or  twenty,"  if  either  "  ten  "  or  "  twenty  " 
there  be  ? 

It  is  the  most  momentous  question.  For  all  this  of  the 
Corn-Law  Abrogation,  and  what  can  follow  therefrom,  is  but 
as  the  shadow  on  King  Hezekiah's  Dial :  the  shadow  has  gone 
back  twenty  years  ;  but  will  again,  in  spite  of  Free-Trades  and 
Abrogations,  travel  forward  its  old  fated  way.  With  our 
present  system  of  individual  Mammonism,  and  Government 
by  Laissez-faire,  this  Nation  cannot  live.  And  if,  in  the 
priceless  interim,  some  new  life  and  healing  be  not  found, 
there  is  no  second  respite  to  be  counted  on.  The  shadow  on 
the  Dial  advances  thenceforth  without  pausing.  What  Govern- 
ment can  do  ?  This  that  they  call  "  Organizing  of  Labor  "  is, 
if  well  understood,  the  Problem  of  the  whole  Future,  for  all 
who  will  in  future  pretend  to  govern  men.  But  our  first  pre- 


248  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  IV. 

liminary  stage  of  it,  How  to  deal  with  the  Actual  Laboring 
Millions  of  England  ?  this  is  the  imperatively  pressing  Prob- 
lem of  the  Present,  pressing  with  a  truly  fearful  intensity 
and  imminence  in  these"  very  years  and  days.  No  Govern- 
ment can  longer  neglect  it :  once  more,  what  can  our  Govern- 
ment do  in  it  ? 

Governments  are  of  very  various  degrees  of  activity :  some, 
altogether  Lazy  Governments,  in  "  free  countries  "  as  they  are 
called,  seem  in  these  times  almost  to  profess  to  do,  if  not  noth- 
ing, one  knows  not  at  first  what.  To  debate  in  Parliament, 
and  gain  majorities ;  and  ascertain  who  shall  be,  with  a  toil 
hardly  second  to  Ixion's,  the  Prime  Speaker  and  Spoke-holder, 
and  keep  the  Txion's- Wheel  going,  if  not  forward,  yet  round  ? 
Not  altogether  so :  —  much,  to  the  experienced  eye,  is  not 
what  it  seems  !  Chancery  and  certain  other  Law-Courts  seem 
nothing ;  yet  in  fact  they  are,  the  worst  of  them,  something : 
chimneys  for  the  devilry  and  contention  of  men  to  escape  by ; 
—  a  very  considerable  something !  Parliament  too  lias  its 
tasks,  if  thou  wilt  look ;  fit  to  wear  out  the  lives  of  toughest 
men.  The  celebrated  Kilkenny  Cats,  through  their  tumul- 
tuous congress,  cleaving  the  ear  of  Night,  could  they  be  said 
to  do  nothing  ?  Hadst  thou  been  of  them,  thou  hadst  seen ! 
The  feline  heart  labored,  as  with  steam  up  —  to  the  bursting 
point ;  and  death-doing  energy  nerved  every  muscle  :  they  had 
a  work  there ;  and  did  it !  On  the  morrow,  two  tails  were 
found  left,  and  peaceable  annihilation  ;  a  neighborhood  de- 
livered from  despair. 

Again,  are  not  Spinning-Dervishes  an  eloquent  emblem, 
significant  of  much  ?  Hast  thou  noticed  him,  that  solemn- 
visaged  Turk,  the  eyes  shut;  dingy  wool  mantle  circularly 
hiding  his  figure ;  —  bell-shaped  ;  like  a  dingy  boll  set  spin- 
ning on  the  tongue  of  it  ?  By  centrifugal  force  the  dingy 
wool  mantle  heaves  itself ;  spreads  more  and  more,  like  up- 
turned cup  widening  into  upturned  saucer  :  thus  spins  he,  to 
the  praise  of  Allah  and  advantage  of  mankind,  fast  and  faster, 
till  collapse  ensue,  and  sometimes  death  !  — 

A  Government  such  as  ours,  consisting  of  from  seven  to 


CHAP.  HI.  THE  ONE  INSTITUTION.  ->49 

eight  hundred  Parliamentary  Talkers,  with  their  CoCort  of 
Able  Editors  and  Public  Opinion ;  and  for  head,  certain  Lords 
and  Servants  of  the  Treasury,  and  Chief  Secretaries  and  others, 
who  find  themselves  at  once  Chiefs  and  No-Chiefs,  and  often 
commanded  rather  than  commanding,  —  is  doubtless  a  most 
complicate  entity,  and  none  of  the  alertest  for  getting  on  with 
business !  Clearly  enough,  if  the  Chiefs  be  not  self-motive 
and  what  we  call  men,  but  mere  patient  lay-figures  without 
self-motive  principle,  the  Government  will  not  move  any- 
whither;  it  will  tumble  disastrously,  and  jumble,  round  its 
own  axis,  as  for  many  years  past  we  have  seen  it  do.  —  And 
yet  a  self-motive  man  who  is  not  a  lay-figure,  place  him  in  the 
heart  of  what  entity  you  may,  will  make  it  move  more  or  less ! 
The  absurdest  in  Nature  he  will  make  a  little  less  absurd,  he. 
The  unwieldiest  he  will  make  to  move ;  —  that  is  the  use  of 
his  existing  there.  He  will  at  least  have  the  manfulness  to 
depart  out  of  it,  if  not ;  to  say  :  "  I  cannot  move  in  thee,  and  be 
a  man  ;  like  a  wretched  drift-log  dressed  in  man's  clothes  and 
minister's  clothes,  doomed  to  a  lot  baser  than  belongs  to  man, 

I  will  not  continue  with  thee,  tumbling  aimless  on  the  Mother 
of  Dead  Dogs  here  :  —  Adieu  !  " 

For,  on  the  whole,  it  is  the  lot  of  Chiefs  everywhere,  this 
same.  No  Chief  in  the  most  despotic  country  but  was  a  Ser- 
vant withal ;  at  once  an  absolute  commanding  General,  and  a 
poor  Orderly -Sergeant,  ordered  by  the  very  men  in  the  ranks, 
—  obliged  to  collect  the  vote  of  the  ranks  too,  in  some  articu- 
late or  inarticulate  shape,  and  weigh  well  the  same.  The 
proper  name  of  all  Kings  is  Minister,  Servant.  In  no  con- 
ceivable Government  can  a  lay -figure  get  forward  !  This 
Worker,  surely  he  above  all  others  has  to  "  spread  out  his 
Gideon's  Fleece,"  and  collect  the  monitions  of  Immensity ; 
the  poor  Localities,  as  we  said,  and  Parishes  of  Palace-yard  or 
elsewhere,  having  no  due  monition  in  them.  A  Prime  Minis- 
ter, even  here  in  England,  who  shall  dare  believe  the  heavenly 
omens,  and  address  himself  like  a  man  and  hero  to  the  great 

I 1  limb-struggling  heart  of  England;  and  sj>eak  out  for  it,  and 
act  out  for  it,  the  God's-Justice  it  is  writhing  to  get  uttered 
and  perishing  for  want  of,  —  yes,  he  too  will  see  awaken  round 


250  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  IV. 

him,  in  passionate  burning  all-defiant  loyalty,  the  heart  of 
England,  and  such  a  "  support  "  as  no  Division-List  or  Parlia- 
mentary Majority  was  ever  yet  known  to  yield  a  man !  Here 
as  there,  now  as  then,  he  who  can  and  dare  trust  the  heavenly 
Immensities,  all  earthly  Localities  are  subject  to  him.  We 
will  pray  for  such  a  Man  and  First-Lord;  —  yes,  and  far 
better,  we  will  strive  and  incessantly  make  ready,  each  of  us, 
to  be  worthy  to  serve  and  second  such  a  First-Lord  !  We 
shall  then  be  as  good  as  sure  of  his  arriving;  sure  of  many 
things,  let  him  arrive  or  not. 

Who  can  despair  of  Governments  that  passes  a  Soldier's 
Guard-house,  or  meets  a  red-coated  man  on  the  streets  !  That 
a  body  of  men  could  be  got  together  to  kill  other  men  when 
you  bade  them :  this,  a  2^'iori,  does  it  not  seem  one  of  the 
impossiblest  things  ?  Yet  look,  behold  it :  in  the  stolidest  of 
Donothing  Governments,  that  impossibility  is  a  thing  done. 
See  it  there,  with  buff  belts,"  red  coats  on  its  back ;  walking 
sentry  at  guard-houses,  brushing  white  breeches  in  barracks ; 
an  indisputable  palpable  fact.  Out  of  gray  Antiquity,  amid 
all  finance-difficulties,  scaccarium-falliea,  ship-moneys,  coat-and- 
conduct  moneys,  and  vicissitudes  of  Chance  and  Time,  there, 
down  to  the  present  blessed  hour,  it  is. 

Often,  in  these  painfully  decadent  and  painfully  nascent 
Times,  with  their  distresses,  inarticulate  gaspings  and  "  im- 
possibilities ;  "  meeting  a  tall  Lifeguardsman  in  his  snow-white 
trousers,  or  seeing  those  two  statuesque  Lifeguardsmen  in 
their  frowning  bearskins,  pipe-clayed  buckskins,  on  their  coal- 
black  sleek-fiery  quadrupeds,  riding  sentry  at  the  Horse-Guards, 
—  it  strikes  one  with  a  kind  of  mournful  interest,  how,  in 
such  universal  down-rushing  and  wrecked  impotence  of  almost 
all  old  institutions,  this  oldest  Fighting  Institution  is  still 
so  young  !  Fresh-complexioned,  firm-limbed,  six  feet  by  the 
standard,  this  fighting-man  has  verily  been  got  up,  and  can 
fight.  While  so  much  has  not  yet  got  into  being;  while  so 
much  has  gone  gradually  out  of  it,  and  become  an  empty 
Semblance  or  Clothes-suit  ;  and  highest  king's-cloaks,  mere 
chimeras  parading  under  them  so  long,  are  getting  unsightly 


CHAP.  m.  THE  ONE  INSTITUTION.  251 

to  the  earnest  eye,  unsightly,  almost  offensive,  like  a  costlier 
kind  of  scarecrow's-blanket,  —  here  still  is  a  reality ! 

The  man  in  horse-hair  wig  advances,  promising  that  he  will 
get  me  "  justice : "  he  takes  me  into  Chancery  Law-Courts, 
into  decades,  half-centuries  of  hubbub,  of  distracted  jargon; 
and  does  get  me — disappointment,  almost  desperation;  and 
one  refuge:  that  of  dismissing  him  and  his  "justice"  alto- 
gether out  of  my  head.  For  I  have  work  to  do;  I  cannot 
spend  my  decades  in  mere  arguing  with  other  men  about  the 
exact  wages  of  my  work :  I  will  work  cheerfully  with  no  wages, 
sooner  than  with  a  ten  years'  gangrene  or  Chancery  Lawsuit 
in  my  heart !  He  of  the  horse-hair  wig  is  a  sort  of  failure ; 
no  substance,  but  a  fond  imagination  of  the  mind.  He  of  the 
shovel-hat,  again,  who  comes  forward  professing  that  he  will 
save  my  soul —  0  ye  Eternities,  of  him  in  this  place  be  abso- 
lute silence !  —  But  he  of  the  red  coat,  I  say,  is  a  success  and 
no  failure !  He  will  veritably,  if  he  get  orders,  draw  out  a 
long  sword  and  kill  me.  Xo  mistake  there.  He  is  a  fact  and 
not  a  shadow.  Alive  in  this  Year  Forty-three,  able  and  will- 
ing to  do  his  work.  In  dim  old  centuries,  with  William  Kufus, 
William  of  Ipres,  or  far  earlier,  he  began ;  and  has  come  down 
safe  so  far.  Catapult  has  given  place  to  cannon,  pike  has  given 
place  to  musket,  iron  mail-shirt  to  coat  of  red  cloth,  saltpetre 
ropematch  to  percussion-cap  ;  equipments,  circumstances  have 
all  changed,  and  again  changed  :  but  the  human  battle-engine 
in  the  inside  of  any  or  of  each  of  these,  ready  still  to  do  battle, 
stands  there,  six  feet  in  standard  size.  There  are  Pay-Offices, 
Woolwich  Arsenals,  there  is  a  Horse-Guards,  War-Office,  Cap- 
tain-General ;  persuasive  Sergeants,  with  tap  of  drum,  recruit 
in  market-towns  and  villages  ;  —  and,  on  the  whole,  I  say, 
here  is  your  actual  drilled  fighting-man  ;  here  are  your  actual 
Ninety  thousand  of  such,  ready  to  go  into  any  quarter  of  the 
world  and  fight ! 

Strange,  interesting,  and  yet  most  mournful  to  reflect  on. 
Was  this,  then,  of  all  the  things  mankind  had  some  talent  for, 
the  one  thing  important  to  learn  well,  and  bring  to  perfection  ; 
this  of  successfully  killing  one  another  ?  Truly  you  have 
learned  it  well,  and  carried  the  business  to  a  high  perfection. 


252  PAST   AND   PRESENT.  BOOK  IV. 

It  is  incalculable  what,  by  arranging,  commanding  and  regi- 
menting, you  can  make  of  men.  These  thousand  straight- 
standing  firm-set  individuals,  who  shoulder  arms,  who  march, 
wheel,  advance,  retreat ;  and  are,  for  your  behoof,  'a  magazine 
charged  with  fiery  death,  in  the  most  perfect  condition  of 
potential  activity :  few  months  ago,  till  the  persuasive  sergeant 
came,  what  were  they  ?  Multiform  ragged  losels,  runaway  ap- 
prentices, starved  weavers,  thievish  valets ;  an  entirely  broken 
population,  fast  tending  towards  the  treadmill.  But  the  per- 
suasive sergeant  came;  by  tap  of  drum  enlisted,  or  formed 
lists  of  them,  took  heartily  to  drilling  them  ;  —  and  he  and  you 
have  made  them  this !  Most  potent,  effectual  for  all  work 
whatsoever,  is  wise  planning,  firm  combining  and  commanding 
among  men.  Let  no  man  despair  of  Governments  who  looks 
on  these  two  sentries  at  the  Horse-Guards  and  our  United- 
Service  Clubs  !  I  could  conceive  an  Emigration  Service,  a 
Teaching  Service,  considerable  varieties  of  United  and  Sepa- 
rate Services,  of  the  due  thousands  strong,  all  effective  as  this 
Fighting  Service  is ;  all  doing  their  work,  like  it ;  —  which 
work,  much  more  than  fighting,  is  henceforth  the  necessity  of 
these  New  Ages  we  are  got  into  !  Much  lies  among  us,  con- 
vulsively, nigh  desperately  struggling  to  be  born. 

But  mean  Governments,  as  mean-limited  individuals  do,  have 
stood  by  the  physically  indispensable ;  have  realized  that  and 
nothing  more.  The  Soldier  is  perhaps  one  of  the  most  difficult 
things  to  realize ;  but  Governments,  had  they  not  realized  him, 
could  not  have  existed :  accordingly  he  is  here.  O  Heavens, 
if  we  saw  an  army  ninety  thousand  strong,  maintained  and 
fully  equipt,  in  continual  real  action  and  battle  against  Human 
Starvation,  against  Chaos,  Necessity,  Stupidity,  and  our  real 
"  natural  enemies,"  what  a  business  were  it !  Fighting  and 
molesting  not  "  the  French,"  who,  poor  men,  have  a  hard 
enough  battle  of  their  own  in  the  like  kind,  and  need  no  addi- 
tional molesting  from  us ;  but  fighting  and  incessantly  spearing 
down  and  destroying  Falsehood,  Nescience,  Delusion,  Disorder, 
and  the  Devil  and  his  Angels  !  Thou  thyself,  cultivated  reader, 
hast  done  something  in  that  alone  true  warfare  ;  but,  alas, 
under  what  circumstances  was  it  ?  Thee  no  beneficent  drill- 


CHAP.  III.  THE  ONE  INSTITUTION.  253 

sergeant,  with  any  effectiveness,  would  rank  in  line  beside  thy 
fellows ;  train,  like  a  true  didactic  artist,  by  the  wit  of  all 
past  experience,  to  do  thy  soldiering;  encourage  thee  when 
right,  punish  thee  when  wrong,  and  everywhere  with  wise 
word-of-command  say,  Forward  on  this  hand,  Forward  on  that ! 
Ah,  no :  thou  hadst  to  learn  thy  small-sword  and  platoon  exer- 
cise where  and  how  thou  couldst ;  to  all  mortals  but  thyself  it 
was  indifferent  whether  thou  shouldst  ever  learn  >t.  And  the 
rations,  and  shilling  a  day,  were  they  provided  thee,  —  reduced 
as  I  have  known  brave  Jean-Pauls,  learning  their  exercise,  to 
live  on  "  water  without  the  bread "  ?  The  rations  ;  or  any 
furtherance  of  promotion  to  corporalship,  lance-corporalship,  or 
due  cat-o'-nine  tails,  with  the  slightest  reference  to  thy  deserts, 
were  not  provided.  Forethought,  even  as  of  a  pipe-clayed  drill- 
sergeant,  did  not  preside  over  thee.  To  corporalship,  lance- 
corporalship,  thou  didst  attain ;  alas,  also  to  the  halberds  and 
cat :  but  thy  rewarder  and  punisher  seemed  blind  as  the  Deluge : 
neither  lance-corporalship,  nor  even  drummer's  cat,  because 
both  appeared  delirious,  brought  thee  due  profit. 

It  was  well,  all  this,  we  know ;  —  and  yet  it  was  not  well ! 
Forty  soldiers,  I  am  told,  will  disperse  the  largest  Spitalfields 
mob :  forty  to  ten  thousand,  that  is  the  proportion  between 
drilled  and  undrilled.  Much  there  is  which  cannot  yet  be 
organized  in  this  world ;  but  somewhat  also  which  can,  some- 
what also  which  must.  When  one  thinks,  for  example,  what 
Books  are  become  and  becoming  for  us,  what  Operative  Lan- 
cashires  are  become ;  what  a  Fourth  Estate,  and  innumerable 
Virtualities  not  yet  got  to  be  Actualities  are  become  and  be- 
coming, —  one  sees  Organisms  enough  in  the  dim  huge  Future  ; 
and  "  United  Services  "  quite  other  than  the  red-coat  one ;  and 
much,  even  in  these  years,  struggling  to  be  born ! 

Of  Time-Bill,  Factory-Bill  and  other  such  Bills  the  present 
Editor  has  no  authority  to  speak.  He  knows  not,  it  is  for 
others  than  he  to  know,  in  what  specific  ways  it  may  be  feasible 
to  interfere,  with  Legislation,  between  the  Workers  and  the 
Master-Workers ;  —  knows  only  and  sees,  what  all  men  are 
beginning  to  see,  that  Legislative  interference,  and  interfer- 
ences not  a  few  are  indispensable ;  that  as  a  lawless  anarchy 


254  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  Boon  IV. 

of  supply -and-demand,  on  market-wages  alone,  this  province  of 
things  cannot  longer  be  left.  Nay  interference  has  begun  : 
there  are  already  Factory  Inspectors,  —  who  seem  to  have  no 
lack  of  work.  Perhaps  there  might  be  Mine-Inspectors  too :  — 
might  there  not  be  Furrowfield  Inspectors  withal,  and  ascertain 
for  us  how  on  seven  and  sixpence  a  week  a  human  family  does 
live  !  Interference  has  begun  ;  it  must  continue,  must  exten- 
sively enlarge  itself,  deepen  and  sharpen  itself.  Such  things 
cannot  i.^ager  be  idly  lapped  in  darkness,  and  suffered  to  go  on 
unseen :  che  Heavens  do  see  them ;  the  curse,  not  the  blessing 
of  the  Heavens  is  on  an  Earth  that  refuses  to  see  them. 

Again  lie  not  Sanitary  Regulations  possible  for  a  Legisla- 
ture ?  The  old  Romans  had  their  ^Ediles ;  who  would,  I  think, 
in  direct  co;.  ^avention  to  supply-and-demand,  have  rigorously 
seen  rammec.  up  into  total  abolition  many  a  foul  cellar  in 
our  Southwarks,  St.-Gileses,  and  dark  poison-lanes ;  saying 
sternly,  "  Shall  a  Roman  man  dwell  there  ?  "  The  Legislature, 
at  whatever  cost  of  consequences,  would  have  had  to  answer, 
"God  forbid!'-'  —  The  Legislature,  even  as  it  now  is,  could 
order  all  dingy  Manufacturing  Towns  to  cease  from  their  soot 
and  darkness;  to  lee  in  the  blessed  sunlight,  the  blue  of 
Heaven,  and  become  clear  and  clean ;  to  burn  their  coal-smoke, 
namely,  and  make  flame  of  it.  Baths,  free  air,  a  wholesome 
temperature,  ceilings  twenty  feet  high,  might  be  ordained,  by 
Act  of  Parliament,  in  all  establishments  licensed  as  Mills. 
There  are  such  Mills  already  extant ;  —  honor  to  the  builders 
of  them !  The  Legislature  can  say  to  others :  Go  ye  and  do 
likewise  ;  better  if  you  can. 

Every  toiling  Manchester,  its  smoke  and  soot  all  burnt, 
ought  it  not,  among  so  many  world-wide  conquests,  to  have 
a  hundred  acres  or  so  of  free  green-field,  with  trees  on  it, 
conquered,  for  its  little  children  to  disport  in ;  for  its  all- 
conquering  workers  to  take  a  breath  of  twilight  air  in  ?  You 
would  say  so  !  A  willing  Legislature  could  say  so  with  effect. 
A  willing  Legislature  could  say  very  many  things !  And  to 
whatsoever  "  vested  interest,"  or  such  like,  stood  up,  gainsay- 
ing merely,  "  I  shall  lose  profits,"  —  the  willing  Legislature 
would  answer,  "Yes,  but  my  sons  and  daughters  will  gair 


CHAP.  m.  THE  ONE  INSTITUTION.  255 

health,  and  life,  and  a  soul."  —  "What  is  to  become  of  our 
Cotton-trade  ?  "  cried  certain  Spinners,  when  the  Factory  Bill 
was  proposed ;  "  What  is  to  become  of  our  invaluable  Cotton- 
trade  ?  "  The  Humanity  of  England  answered  steadfastly  : 
"  Deliver  me  these  rickety  perishing  souls  of  infants,  and  let 
your  Cotton-trade  take  its  chance.  God  Himself  commands 
the  one  thing ;  not  God  especially  the  other  thing.  We  can- 
not have  prosperous  Cotton-trades  at  the  expense  of  keeping 
the  Devil  a  partner  in  them !  "  — 

Bills  enough,  were  the  Corn-Law  Abrogation  Bill  once  passed, 
and  a  Legislature  willing.  Nay  this  one  Bill,  which  lies  yet 
unenacted,  a  right  Education  Bill,  is  not  this  of  itself  the  sure 
parent  of  innumerable  wise  Bills,  —  wise  regulations,  practi- 
cal methods  and  proposals,  gradually  ripening  towards  the 
state  of  Bills  ?  To  irradiate  with  intelligence,  that  is  to  say, 
with  order,  arrangement  and  all  blessedness,  the  Chaotic, 
Unintelligent :  how,  except  by  educating,  can  you  accomplish 
this  ?  That  thought,  reflection,  articulate  utterance  and  un- 
derstanding be  awakened  in  these  individual  million  heads, 
which  are  the  atoms  of  your  Chaos  :  there  is  no  other  way 
of  illuminating  any  Chaos  !  The  sum-total  of  intelligence  that 
is  found  in  it,  determines  the  extent  of  order  that  is  possible 
for  your  Chaos,  —  the  feasibility  and  rationality  of  what  your 
Chaos  will  dimly  demand  from  you,  and  will  gladly  obey 
when  proposed  by  you !  It  is  an  exact  equation ;  the  one 
accurately  measures  the  other.  —  If  the  whole  English  People, 
during  these  "twenty  years  of  respite,"  be  not  educated, 
with  at  least  schoolmaster's  educating,  a  tremendous  responsi- 
bility, before  God  and  men,  will  rest  somewhere !  How  dare 
any  man,  especially  a  man  calling  himself  minister  of  God, 
stand  up  in  any  Parliament  or  place,  under  any  pretext  or 
delusion,  and  for  a  day  or  an  hour  forbid  God's  Light  to  come 
into  the  world,  and  bid  the  Devil's  Darkness  continue  in  it 
one  hour  more  !  For  all  light  and  science,  under  all  shapes, 
in  all  degrees  of  perfection,  is  of  God ;  all  darkness,  nescience, 
is  of  the  Enemy  of  God.  "  The  schoolmaster's  creed  is  some- 
what awry  ?  "  Yes,  I  have  found  few  creeds  entirely  correct ; 
few  light-beams  shining  ichitf,  p\ire  of  admixture :  but  of  all 


256  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  IV. 

creeds  and  religions  now  or  ever  before  known,  was  not  that 
of  thoughtless  thriftless  Animalism,  of  Distilled  Gin,  and 
Stupor  and  Despair,  unspeakably  the  least  orthodox  ?  We 
will  exchange  it  even  with  Paganism,  with. Fetishism ;  and,  on 
the  whole,  must  exchange  it  with  something. 

An  effective  "  Teaching  Service  "  I  do  consider  that  there 
must  be ;  some  Education  Secretary,  Captain-General  of  Teach- 
ers, who  will  actually  contrive  to  get  us  taught.  Then  again, 
why  should  there  not  be  an  "  Emigration  Service,"  and  Secre- 
tary, with  adjuncts,  with  funds,  forces,  idle  Navy-ships,  and 
ever-increasing  apparatus ;  in  fine  an  effective  system  of  Emi- 
gration; so  that,  at  length,  befoie  our  twenty  years  of  respite 
ended,  every  honest  willing  Workman  who  found  England  too 
strait,  and  the  "  Organization  of  Labor  "  not  yet  sufficiently 
advanced,  might  find  likewise  a  bridge  built  to  carry  him  into 
new  Western  Lands,  there  to  "  organize  "  with  more  elbow- 
room,  some  labor  for  himself  ?  There  to  be  a  real  blessing, 
raising  new  corn  for  us,  purchasing  new  webs  and  hatchets 
from  us ;  leaving  us  at  least  in  peace ;  —  instead  of  staying 
here  to  be  a  Physical-Force  Chartist,  unblessed  and  no  bless- 
ing !  Is  it  not  scandalous  to  consider  that  a  Prime  Minister 
could  raise  within  the  year,  as  I  have  seen  it  done,  a  Hundred 
and  Twenty  Millions  Sterling  to  shoot  the  French ;  and  we 
are  stopt  short  for  want  of  the  hundredth  part  of  that  to  keep 
the  English  living  ?  The  bodies  of  the  English  living,  and  the 
souls  of  the  English  living :  —  these  two  "  Services,"  an  Edu- 
cation Service  and  an  Emigration  Service,  these  with  others 
will  actually  have  to  be  organized ! 

A  free  bridge  for  Emigrants:  why,  we  should  then  be  on 
a  par  with  America  itself,  the  most  favored  of  all  lands  that 
have  no  government ;  and  we  should  have,  besides,  so  many 
traditions  and  mementos  of  priceless  things  which  America 
has  cast  away.  We  could  proceed  deliberately  to  "  organize 
Labor,"  not  doomed  to  perish  unless  we  effected  it  within 
year  and  day ;  —  every  willing  Worker  that  proved  superflu- 
ous, finding  a  bridge  ready  for  him.  This  verily  will  have  to 
be  done ;  the  Time  is  big  with  this.  Our  little  Isle  is  grown 
too  narrow  for  us ;  but  the  world  is  wide  enough  yet  for 


CHAP.  III.  THE  ONE  INSTITUTION.  267 

another  Six  Thousand  Years.  England's  sure  markets  will  be 
among  new  Colonies  of  Englishmen  in  all  quarters  of  the 
Globe.  All  men  trade  with  all  men,  when  mutually  conven- 
ient ;  and  are  even  bound  to  do  it  by  the  Maker  of  men. 
Our  friends  of  China,  who  guiltily  refused  to  trade,  in  these 
circumstances,  —  had  we  not  to  argue  with  them,  in  cannon- 
shot  at  last,  and  convince  them  that  they  ought  to  trade  ! 
'•  Hostile  Tariffs  "  will  arise,  to  shut  us  out ;  and  then  again 
will  fall,  to  let  us  in :  but  the  Sons  of  England,  speakers  of 
the  English  language  were  it  nothing  more,  will  in  all  times 
have  the  ineradicable  predisposition  to  trade  with  England. 
Mycale  was  the  Pan-Ionian,  rendezvous  of  all  the  Tribes  of 
Ion,  for  old  Greece :  why  should  not  London  long  continue 
the  All-Saxon-homc,  rendezvous  of  all  the  "Children  of  the 
Ilarz-Rock/'  arriving,  in  select  samples,  from  the  Antipodes 
and  elsewhere,  by  steam  and  otherwise,  to  the  "  season " 
here  !  —  What  a  future  ;  wide  as  the  world,  if  we  have  the 
heart  and  heroism  for  it,  —  which,  by  Heaven's  blessing,  we 
shall :  — 

"  Keep  not  standing  fixed  and  rooted, 

Briskly  venture,  liriskly  roam  ; 

Head  and  hand,  where'er  thou  foot  it, 

And  stout  heart  are  still  at  home. 

"  In  what  land  the  sun  does  visit, 
Brisk  are  we,  whatc'er  betide  : 
To  give  space  for  wandering  is  it 
Th»t  the  world  was  made  so  wide."  ' 

Fourteen  hundred  years  ago,  it  was  by  a  considerable  "Emi- 
gration Service,"  never  doubt  it,  by  much  enlistment,  discus- 
sion and  apparatus,  that  we  ourselves  arrived  in  this  remark- 
able Island,  —  and  got  into  our  present  difficulties  among 
others ! 

It  is  true  the  English  Legislature,  like  the  English  People, 
is  of  slow  temper  ;  essentially'  conservative.  In  our  wildest 
periods  of  reform,  in  the  Long  Parliament  itself,  you  notice 
always  the  invincible  instinct  to  hold  fast  by  the  Old;  to 
admit  the  minimum  of  New;  to  expand,  if  it  be  possible,  some 

J  Goethe,  W;'1,rl,n  M,  .'strr. 
VOL.  XII.  17 


258  PAST   AND   PRESENT.  BOOK  IV. 

old  habit  or  method,  already  found  fruitful,  into  new  growth 
for  the  new  need.  It  is  an  instinct  worthy  of  all  honor  ;  akin 
to  all  strength  and  all  wisdom.  The  Future  hereby  is  not 
dissevered  from  the  Past,  but  based  continuously  on  it ;  grows 
with  all  the  vitalities  of  the  Fast,  and  is  rooted  down  deep  into 
the  beginnings  of  us.  The  English  Legislature  is  entirely  re- 
pugnant to  believe  in  "new  epochs."  The  English  Legisla- 
ture does  not  occupy  itself  with  epochs  ;  has,  indeed,  other 
business  to  do  than  looking  at  the  Time-Horologe  and  hearing 
it  tick !  Nevertheless  new  epochs  do  actually  come ;  and  with 
them  new  imperious  peremptory  necessities ;  so  that  even  an 
English  Legislature  has  to  look  up,  and  admit,  though  with 
reluctance,  that  the  hour  has  struck.  The  hour  having  struck, 
let  us  not  say  "  impossible :  "  —  it  will  have  to  be  possible  ! 
"  Contrary  to  the  habits  of  Parliament,  the  habits  of  Govern- 
ment ?  "  Yes :  but  did  any  Parliament  or  Government  ever 
sit  in  a  Year  Forty-three  before  ?  One  of  the  most  original, 
unexampled  years  and  epochs ;  in  several  important  respects 
totally  unlike  any  other !  For  Time,  all-edacious  and  all- 
feracious,  does  run  on :  and  the  Seven  Sleepers,  awakening 
hungry  after  a  hundred  years,  find  that  it  is  not  their  old 
nurses  who  can  now  give  them  suck  ! 

For  the  rest,  let  not  any  Parliament,  Aristocracy,  Milloc- 
racy,  or  Member  of  the  Governing  Class,  condemn  with  much 
triumph  this  small  specimen  of  "  remedial  measures  ;  "  or  ask 
again,  with  the  least  anger,  of  this  Editor,  What  is  to  be 
done,  How  that  alarming  problem  of  the  Working  Classes  is 
to  be  managed  ?  Editors  are  not  here,  foremost  of  all,  to  say 
How.  A  certain  Editor  thanks  the  gods  that  nobody  pays 
him  three  hundred  thousand  pounds  a  year,  two  hundred 
thousand,  twenty  thousand,  or  any  similar  sum  of  cash  for 
saying  How ;  —  that  his  wages  are  very  different,  his  work 
somewhat  fitter  for  him.  An  Editor's  stipulated  work  is  to 
apprise  thee  that  it  must  be  done.  The  "  way  to  do  it,"  — is 
to  try  it,  knowing  that  thou  shalt  die  if  it  be  not  done.  There 
is  the  bare  back,  there  is  the  web  of  cloth  ;  thou  shalt  cut  me 
a  coat  to  cover  the  bare  back,  thou  whose  trade  it  is.  "  Im- 
possible ?  "  Hapless  Fraction,  dost  thou  discern  Fate  there, 


CHAT.  IV.  CAPTAINS  OF   INDUSTRY.  269 

half  unveiling  herself  in  the  gloom  of  the  future,  with  her 
gibbet-cords,  her  steel-whips,  and  very  authentic  Tailor's  Hell ; 
waiting  to  see  whether  it  is  "  possible  "  ?  Out  with  thy  scis- 
sors, and  cut  that  cloth  or  thy  own  windpipe  1 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CAPTAINS    OF    INDUSTRY. 

IF  I  believed  that  Mammonism  with  its  adjuncts  was  to 
continue  henceforth  the  one  serious  principle  of  our  existence, 
I  should  reckon  it  idle  to  solicit  remedial  measures  from  any 
Government,  the  disease  being  insusceptible  of  remedy.  Gov- 
ernment can  do  much,  but  it  can  in  no  wise  do  all.  Govern- 
ment, as  the  most  conspicuous  object  in  Society,  is  called 
upon  to  give  signal  of  what  shall  be  done ;  and,  in  many  ways, 
to  preside  over,  further,  and  command  the  doing  of  it.  But 
the  Government  cannot  do,  by  all  its  signaling  and  command- 
ing, what  the  Society  is  radically  indisposed  to  do.  In  the 
long-run  every  Government  is  the  exact  symbol  of  its  People, 
with  their  wisdom  and  unwisdom ;  we  have  to  say,  Like  Peo- 
ple like  Government. — The  main  substance  of  this  immense 
Problem  of  Organizing  Labor,  and  first  of  all  of  Managing  the 
Working  Classes,  will,  it  is  very  clear,  have,  to  be  solved  by 
those  who  stand  practically  in  the  middle  of  it ;  by  those  who 
themselves  work  and  preside  over  work.  Of  all  that  can  be 
enacted  by  any  Parliament  in  regard  to  it,  the  germs  must 
already  lie  potentially  extant  in  those  two  Classes,  who  are 
to  obey  such  enactment.  A  Human  Chaos  in  which  there  is 
no  light,  you  vainly  attempt  to  irradiate  by  light  shed  on  it : 
order  never  can  arise  there. 

Kut  it  is  my  firm  conviction  that  the  "Hell  of  England" 
will  cease  to  be  that  of  "  not  making  money ;  "  that  we  shall 
get  a  nobler  Hell  and  a  nobler  Heaven  !  I  anticipate  light 
in  the  Human  Chaos,  glimmering,  shining  more  and  more ; 
under  manifold  true  signals  from  without  That  light  shall 


260  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  IV. 

shine.  Our  deity  no  longer  being  Mammon,  —  0  Heavens, 
each  man  will  then  say  to  himself :  "  Why  such  deadly  haste 
to  make  money  ?  1  shall  not  go  to  Hell,  even  if  I  do  not 
make  money  !  There  is  another  Hell,  I  am  told !  "  Compe- 
tition, at  railway-speed,  in  all  branches  of  commerce  and  work 
will  then  abate:  —  good  felt-hats  for  the  head,  in  every  sense, 
instead  of  seven-feet  lath-and-plaster  hats  on  wheels,  will  then 
be  discoverable !  Bubble-periods,  with  their  panics  and  com- 
mercial crises,  will  again  become  infrequent ;  steady  modest 
industry  will  take  the  place  of  gambling  speculation.  To  be 
a  noble  Master,  among  noble  Workers,  will  again  be  the  first 
ambition  with  some  few;  to  be  a  rich  Master  only  the  second. 
How  the  Inventive  Genius  of  England,  with  the  whirr  of  its 
bobbins  and  billy-rollers  shoved  somewhat  into  the  back- 
grounds of  the  brain,  will  contrive  and  devise,  not  cheaper 
produce  exclusively,  but  fairer  distribution  of  the  produce 
at  its  present  cheapness  !  By  degrees,  we  shall  again  have 
a  Society  with  something  of  Heroism  in  it,  something  of 
Heaven's  Blessing  on  it;  we  shall  again  have,  as  my  Ger- 
man friend  asserts,  "  instead  of  Mammon-Feudalism  with  un- 
sold cotton-shirts  and  Preservation  of  the  Game,  noble  just 
Industrialism  and  Government  by  the  Wisest ! " 

It  is  with  the  hope  of  awakening  here  and  there  a  British 
man  to  know  himself  for  a  man  and  divine  soul,  that  a  few 
words  of  parting  admonition,  to  all  persons  to  whom  the 
Heavenly  Powers  have  lent  power  of  any  kind  in  this  land, 
'may  now  be  addressed.  And  first  to  those  same  Master- 
Workers,  Leaders  of  Industry ;  who  stand  nearest  and  in  fact 
powerfulest,  though  not  most  prominent,  being  as  yet  in  too 
many  senses  a  Virtuality  rather  than  an  Actuality. 

The  Leaders  of  Industry,  if  Industry  is  ever  to  be  led, 
are  virtually  the  Captains  of  the  World ;  if  there  be  no  noble- 
ness in  them,  there  will  never  be  an  Aristocracy  more.  But 
let  the  Captains  of  Industry  consider :  once  again,  are  they 
born  of  other  clay  than  the  old  Captains  of  Slaughter  ;  doomed 
forerer  to  be  no  Chivalry,  but  a  mere  gold-plated  Doggery,  — 
what  the  French  well  name  Canaille,  "  Doggery "  with  more 


CHAP.  IV.  CAPTAINS  OF  INDUSTRY.  261 

or  less  gold  carriou  at  its  disposal  ?  Captains  of  Industry 
are  the  true  Fighters,  henceforth  recognizable  as  the  only  true 
ones :  Fighters  against  Chaos,  Necessity  and  the  Devils  and 
Jotuns;  and  lead  on  Mankind  in  that  great,  and  alone  true, 
and  universal  warfare ;  the  stars  in  their  courses  lighting  for 
them,  and  all  Heaven  and  all  Earth  saying  audibly,  Well  done  ! 
Let  the  Captains  of  Industry  retire  into  their  own  hearts,  and 
ask  solemnly,  If  there  is  nothing  but  vulturous  hunger,  for 
tine  wines,  valet  reputation  and  gilt  carriages,  discoverable 
there  ?  Of  hearts  made  by  the  Almighty  God  I  will  not 
believe  such  a  thing.  Deep-hidden  under  wretchedest  god- 
forgetting  Cants,  Epicurisms,  Dead-Sea  Apisms  ;  forgotten  as 
under  foulest  fat  Lethe  inud  and  weeds,  there  is  yet,  in  all 
hearts  born  into  this  God's-World,  a  spark  of  the  Godlike 
slumbering.  Awake,  O  nightmare  sleepers  ;  awake,  arise,  or 
l>e  forever  fallen  !  This  is  not  play-house  poetry ;  it  is  sober 
fact.  Our  England,  our  world  cannot  live  as  it  is.  It  will 
connect  itself  with  a  God  again,  or  go  down  with  nameless 
throes  and  fire-consummation  to  the  Devils.  Thou  who  feelest 
aught  of  such  a  Godlike  stirring  in  thee,  any  faintest  intimation 
of  it  as  through  heavy-laden  dreams,  follow  it,  I  conjure  thee. 
Arise,  save  thyself,  be  one  of  those  that  save  thy  country. 

Bucaniers,  Choctaw  Indians,  whose  supreme  aim  in  fighting 
is  that  they  may  get  the  scalps,  the  money,  that  they  may 
amass  scalps  and  money  :  out  of  such  came  no  Chivalry,  and 
never  will !  Out  of  such  jcame  only  gore  and  wreck,  infernal 
rage  and  misery  ;  desperation  quenched  in  annihilation.  Be- 
hold it,  I  bid  thee,  behold  there,  and  consider  !  What  is  it 
that  thou  have  a  hundred  thousand-pound  bills  laid  up  in  thy 
strong-room,  a  hundred  scalps  hung  up  in  thy  wigwam  ?  I 
value  not  them  or  thee.  Thy  scalps  and  thy  thousand-pound 
bills  are  as  yet  nothing,  if  no  nobleness  from  within  irradiate 
them  ;  if  no  Chivalry,  in  action,  or  in  embryo  ever  struggling 
towards  birth  and  action,  be  there. 

Love  of  men  cannot  be  bought  by  cash-payment ;  and  with- 
out love  men  cannot  endure  to  be  together.  You  cannot  lead 
a  Fighting  World  without  having  it  regimented,  chivalried : 
the  thing,  in  a  day,  becomes  impossible  ;  all  men  in  it,  the 


262  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  Boor  IV. 

highest  at  first,  the  very  lowest  at  last,  discern  consciously,  or 
by  a  noble  instinct,  this  necessity.     And  can  you  any  more 
continue  to  lead  a  Working  World  unregiinented,  anarchic  ? 
I  answer,  and  the  Heavens  and  Earth  are  now  answering,  No ! 
The  thing  becomes  not  "  in  a  day  "  impossible ;  but  in  some 
two  generations  it  does.     Yes,  when  fathers  and  mothers,  in 
Stockport  hunger-cellars,  begin  to  eat  their  children,  and  Irish 
widows  have  to  prove  their  relationship  by  dying  of  typhus- 
fever;  and  amid  Governing  "Corporations  of  the  Best  and 
Bravest,"  busy  to  preserve  their  game  by  "bushing,"  dark 
millions  of  God's  human  creatures  start  up  in  mad  Chartisms, 
impracticable  Sacred-Months,  and  Manchester  Insurrections ;  — 
and  there  is  a  virtual  Industrial  Aristocracy  as  yet  only  half- 
alive,  spell-bound  amid  money-bags  and  ledgers ;  and  an  actual 
Idle  Aristocracy  seemingly  near  dead  in  somnolent  delusions, 
in  trespasses  and  double-barrels' ;    "  sliding,"  as  on  inclined- 
planes,  which  every  new  year  they  soap  with  new  Hansard' s- 
jargon  under  God's  sky,  and   so  are   "  sliding,"  ever  faster, 
towards  a  "  scale  "  and  balance-scale  whereon  is  written  Thou 
art  found  Wanting  :  —  in  such  days,  after  a  generation  or  two, 
I  say,  it  does  become,  even  to  the  low  and  simple,  very  palpa- 
bly impossible  !     No  Working  World,  any  more  than  a  Fight- 
ing World,  can  be  led  on  without  a  noble  Chivalry  of  Work, 
and  laws   and   fixed   rules   whicli    follow  out   of  that,  —  far 
nobler  than  any  Chivalry  of  Fighting  was.     As  an  anarchic 
multitude  on  mere  Supply-and-demand,  it  is  becoming  inevi- 
table that  we  dwindle  in  horrid  suicidal  convulsion  and  self- 
abrasion,  frightful  to  the  imagination,  into  Choctaw  Workers. 
With  wigwams  and  scalps,  —  with  palaces  and  thousand-pound 
bills  ;  with  savagery,  depopulation,  chaotic  desolation !     Good 
Heavens,  will  not  one  French  Revolution  and  Reign  of  Terror 
suffice  us,  but  must   there   be  two  ?     There  will  be  two  if 
needed ;  there  will  be  twenty  if  needed ;  there  will  be  pre- 
cisely as  many  as  are  needed.     The  Laws  of  Nature  will  have 
themselves  fulfilled.     That  is  a  thing  certain  to  me. 

Your  gallant  battle-hosts  and  work-hosts,  as  the  others  did, 
will  need  to  be  made  loyally  yours ;  they  must  and  will  be 
regulated,  methodically  secured  in  their  just  share  of  conquest 


CHAP.  IV.  CAPTAINS  OF  INDUSTRY.  263 

under  you ;  —  joined  with  you  in  veritable  brotherhood,  son- 
hood,  by  quite  other  and  deeper  ties  than  those  of  temporary 
day's  wages !  How  would  mere  red-coated  regiments,  to  say 
nothing  of  chivalries,  tight  for  you,  if  you  could  discharge 
them  on  the  evening  of  the  battle,  on  payment  of  the  stipu- 
lated shillings,  —  and  they  discharge  you  on  the  morning  of 
it !  Chelsea  Hospitals,  pensions,  promotions,  rigorous  lasting 
covenant  on  the  one  side  and  on  the  other,  are  indispensable 
even  for  a  hired  fighter.  The  Feudal  Baron,  much  more,  - 
how  could  he  subsist  with  mere  temporary  mercenaries  round 
him,  at  sixpence  a  day;  ready  to  go  over  to  the  other  side,  if 
sevenpence  were  offered?  He  could  not  have  subsisted;  — 
and  his  noble  instinct  saved  him  from  the  necessity  of  even 
trying !  The  Feudal  Baron  had  a  Man's  Soul  in  him  ;  to  which 
anarchy,  mutiny,  and  the  other  fruits  of  temporary  mercena- 
ries, were  intolerable :  he  had  never  been  a  Baron  otherwise, 
but  had  continued  a  Choctaw  and  Bucauier.  He  felt  it  pre- 
cious, and  at  last  it  became  habitual,  and  his  fruitful  enlarged 
existence  included  it  as  a  necessity,  to  have  men  round  him 
who  in  heart  loved  him;  whose  life  he  watched  over  with 
rigor  yet  with  love ;  who  were  prepared  to  give  their  life  for 
him,  if  need  came.  It  was  beautiful ;  it  was  human  !  Man 
lives  not  otherwise,  nor  can  live  contented,  anywhere  or  any- 
when.  Isolation  is  the  sum-total  of  wretchedness  to  man.  To 
be  cut  off,  to  be  loft  solitary :  to  have  a  world  alien,  not  your 
world ;  all  a  hostile  camp  for  you ;  not  a  home  at  all,  of  hearts 
and  faces  who  are  yours,  whose  you  are  !  It  is  the  friglit- 
f ulest  enchantment ;  too  truly  a  work  of  the  Evil  One.  To 
have  neither  superior,  nor  inferior,  nor  equal,  united  manlike 
to  you.  Without  father,  without  child,  without  brother.  Man 
knows  no  sadder  destiny.  "How  is  each  of  us,"  exclaims 
Jean  Paul,  "  so  lonely  in  the  wide  bosom  of  the  All !  "  En- 
cased  each  as  in  his  transparent  "  ice-palace  ;  "  our  brother 
visible  in  his,  making  signals  and  gesticulations  to  us;  —  visi- 
ble, but  forever  unattainable  :  on  his  l>osom  we  shall  never  rest, 
nor  he  on  ours.  It  was  not  a  God  that  did  this ;  no ! 

Awake,  ye  noble  Workers,  warriors   in  the  one  true  war : 
all  this  must  be  remedied.     It  is  you  who  are  already  half- 


264  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  IV. 

alive,  whom  1  will  welcome  into  life ;  whom  I  will  conjure, 
in  God's  name,  to  shake  off  your  enchanted  sleep,  and  live 
wholly  !  Cease  to  count  scalps,  gold-purses;  not  in  these  lies 
your  or  our  salvation.  Even  these,  if  you  count  only  these, 
will  not  long  be  left.  Let  bucaniering  be  put  far  from  you  ; 
alter,  speedily  abrogate  all  laws  of  the  bucaniers,  if  you  would 
gain  any  victory  that  shall  endure.  Let  God's  justice,  let 
pity,  nobleness  and  manly  valor,  with  more  gold-purses  or 
with  fewer,  testify  themselves  in  this  your  brief  Life-transit 
to  all  the  Eternities,  the  Gods  and  Silences.  It  is  to  you  1 
call ;  for  ye  are  not  dead,  ye  are  already  half-alive :  there  is 
in  you  a  sleepless  dauntless  energy,  the  prime-matter  of  all 
nobleness  in  man.  Honor  to  you  in  your  kind.  It  is  to  you 
I  call :  ye  know  at  least  this,  That  the  mandate  of  God  to  His 
creature  man  is :  Work  !  The  future  Epic  of  the  World  rests 
hot  with  those  that  are  near  dead,  but  with  those  that  are 
alive,  and  those  that  are  coming  into  life. 

Look  around  yon.  Your  world-hosts  are  all  in  mutiny,  in 
confusion,  destitution  ;  on  the  eve  of  fiery  wreck  and  madness  ! 
They  will  not  march  farther  for  you,  on  the  sixpence  a  day 
and  supply -and-demand  principle  :  they  will  not ;  nor  ought 
they,  nor  can  they.  Ye  shall  reduce  them  to  order,  begin 
reducing  them.  To  order,  to  just  subordination  ;  noble  loy- 
alty in  return  for  noble  guidance.  Their  souls  are  driven 
nigh  mad ;  let  yours  be  sane  and  ever  saner.  Not  as  a  bewil- 
dered bewildering  mob ;  but  as  a  firm  regimented  mass,  with 
real  captains  over  them,  will  these  men  march  any  more. 
All  human  interests,  combined  human  endeavors,  and  social 
growths  in  this  world,  have,  at  a  certain  stage  of  their  devel- 
opment, required  organizing:  and  Work,  the  grandest  of  hu- 
man interests,  does  now  require  it. 

God  knows,  the  task  will  be  hard ;  but  no  noble  task  was 
ever  easy.  This  task  will  wear  away  your  lives,  and  the  lives 
of  your  sons  and  grandsons:  but  for  what  purpose,  if  not  for 
tasks  like  this,  were  lives  given  to  men  ?  Ye  shall  cease  to 
count  your  thousand-pound  scalps,  the  noble  of  you  shall  cease  ! 
Nay  the  very  scalps,  as  I  say,  will  not  long  be  left  if  you  count 
only  these.  Ye  shall  cease  wholly  to  be  barbarous  vulturous 


CHAT.  V.  PERMANENCE.  266 

Choctaws,  and  become  noble  European  Nineteenth-Century 
Men.  Ye  shall  know  that  Mammon,  in  never  such  gigs  and 
flunky  "  respectabilities,"  is  not  the  alone  God  ;  that  of  him- 
self he  is  but  a  Devil,  and  even  a  Brute-god. 

Difficult  ?  Yes,  it  will  be  difficult.  The  short-fibre  cotton  ; 
that  too  was  difficult.  The  waste  cotton-shrub,  long  useless, 
disobedjent,  as  the  thistle  by  the  wayside,  —  have  ye  not  con- 
quered it ;  made  it  into  beautiful  bandana  webs  ;  white  woven 
shirts  for  men  ;  bright-tinted  air-garments  'wherein  flit  god- 
desses ?  Ye  have  shivered  mountains  asunder,  made  the  hard 
iron  pliant  to  you  as  soft  putty :  the  Forest-giants,  Marsh- 
jotuns  bear  sheaves  of  golden  grain;  ^Egir  the  Sea-demon 
himself  stretches  his  back  for  a  sleek  highway  to  you,  and  on 
Fire-horses  and  Wind-horses  ye  career.  Ye  are  most  strong. 
Thor  red-bearded,  with  his  blue  sun-eyes,  with  his  cheery 
heart  and  strong  thunder-hammer,  he  and  you  have  prevailed. 
Ye  are  most  strong,  ye  Sons  of  the  icy  North,  of  the  far  East, 
—  far  marching  from  your  rugged  Eastern  Wildernesses,  hither- 
ward  from  the  gray  Dawn  of  Time  !  Ye  are  Sons  of  the  Jotun- 
land ;  the  land  of  Difficulties  Conquered.  Difficult  ?  You 
must  try  this  thing.  Once  try  it  with  the  understanding  that 
it  will  and  shall  have  to  be  done.  Try  it  as  ye  try  the  pal- 
trier thing,  making  of  money !  I  will  bet  on  you  once  more, 
against  all  Jo'tuns,  Tailor-gods,  Double-barrelled  Law-wards, 
and  Denizens  of  Chaos  whatsoever  ! 


CHAPTER  V. 

PERMANENCE. 

STANDING  on  the  threshold,  nay  as  yet  outside  the  threshold, 
of  a  "Chivalry  of  Labor,"  and  an  immeasurable  Future  which 
it  is  to  fill  with  fruitfulness  and  verdant  shade ;  where  so  much 
has  not  yet  come  even  to  the  rudimental  state,  and  all  speech 
of  positive  enactments  were  hazardous  in  those  who  know  this 
business  only  by  the  eye,  —  let  us  here  hint  at  simply  one 


266  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  IV. 

widest  universal  principle,  as  the  basis  from  which  all  organi- 
zation hitherto  has  grown  up  among  men,  and  all  henceforth 
will  have  to  grow :  The  principle  of  Permanent  Contract 
instead  of  Temporary. 

Permanent  not  Temporary :  —  you  do  not  hire  the  mere  red- 
boated  fighter  by  the  day,  but  by  the  score  of  years !  Perma- 
nence, persistence  is  the  first  condition  of  all  fruitfulness  in 
the  ways  of  men.  The  <•  tendency  to  persevere/'  to  persist  in 
spite  of  hindrances,  discouragements  and  i(  impossibilities  :  " 
it  is  this  that  in  all  things  distinguishes  the  strong  soul  from 
the  weak ;  the  civilized  burgher  from  the  nomadic  savage,  — 
the  Species  Man  from  the  Genus  Ape !  The  Nomad  has  his 
very  house  set  on  wheels ;  the  Nomad,  and  in  a  still  higher 
degree  the  Ape,  are  all  for  "  liberty ; "  the  privilege  to  flit  con- 
tinually is  indispensable  for  them.  Alas,  in  how  many  ways, 
does  our  humor,  in  this  swift-rolling,  self-abrading  Time,  show 
itself  nomadic,  apelike ;  mournful  enough  to  him  that  looks  on 
it  with  eyes !  This  humor  will  have  to  abate ;  it  is  the  first 
element  of  all  fertility  in  human  things,  that  such  "  liberty  " 
of  apes  and  nomads  do  by  free-will  or  constraint  abridge  itself, 
give  place" to  a  better.  The  civilized  man  lives  not  in  wheeled 
houses.  He  builds  stone  castles,  plants  lands,  makes  lifelong 
marriage-contracts ;  —  has  long-dated  hundred-fold  possessions, 
not  to  be  valued  in  the  money-market ;  has  pedigrees,  libraries, 
law-codes ;  has  memories  and  hopes,  even  for  this  Earth,  that 
reach  over  thousands  of  years.  Lifelong  marriage-contracts : 
how  much  preferable  were  year-long  or  month-long  —  to  the 
nomad  or  ape ! 

Month-long  contracts  please  me  little,  in  any  province  where 
there  can  by  possibility  be  found  virtue  enough  for  more. 
Month-long  contracts  do  not  answer  well  even  with  your 
house-servants ;  the  liberty  on  both  sides  to  change  every 
month  is  growing  very  apelike,  nomadic;  —  and  I  hear  philoso- 
phers predict  that  it  will  alter,  or  that  strange  results  will 
follow :  that  wise  men,  pestered  with  nomads,  with  unattached 
ever-shifting  spies  and  enemies  rather  than  friends  and  ser- 
vants, will  gradually,  weighing  substance  against  semblance, 


CHAP.  V.  PERMANENCE.  267 

with  indignation,  dismiss  such,  down  almost  to  the  very  shoe- 
black, and  say,  u  Begone ;  I  will  serve  myself  rather,  and  have 
peace ! "  Gurth  was  hired  for  life  to  Cedric,  and  Cedric  to 
Gurth.  0  Anti-Slavery  Convention,  loud-sounding  long-eared 
Exeter-Hall_ —  But  in  thee  too  is  a  kind  of  instinct  towards 
justice,  and  I  will  complain  of  nothing.  Only  black  Quashee 
over  the  seas  being  once  sufficiently  attended  to,  wilt  thou  not 
perhaps  open  thy  dull  sodden  eyes  to  the  "  sixty  thousand 
valets  in  London  itself  who  are  yearly  dismissed  to  the  streets, 
to  be  what  they  can,  when  the  season  ends ; "  —  or  to  the 
hunger-stricken,  pallid,  yellow-colored  "  Free  Laborers "  in 
Lancashire,  Yorkshire,  Buckinghamshire,  and  all  other  shires  ! 
These  Yellow-colored,  for  the  present,  absorb  all  my  sympa- 
thies :  if  I  had  a  Twenty  Millions,  with  Model-Farms  and  Niger 
Expeditions,  it  is  to  these  that  I  would  give  it !  Quashee  has 
already  victuals,  clothing ;  Quashee  is  not  dying  of  such  despair 
as  the  yellow-colored  pale  man's.  Quashee,  it  must  be  owned, 
is  hitherto  a  kind  of  blockhead.  The  Haiti  Duke  of  Marma- 
lade, educated  now  for  almost  half  a  century,  seems  to  have 
next  to  no  sense  in  him.  Why,  in  one  of  those  Lancashire' 
Weavers,  dying  of  hunger,  there  is  more  thought  and  heart,! 
a  greater  arithmetical  amount  of  misery  and  desperation,  than] 
in  whole  gangs  of  Quashees.  It  must  be  owned,  thy  eyes  are  of 
the  sodden  sort ;  and  with  thy  emancipations,  and  thy  twenty- 
inillionings  and  long-eared  clamorings,  thou,  like  Robespierre 
with  his  pasteboard  iStre  Supreme,  threatenest  to  become  a  bore 
to  us:  At'ec ton  J^tre  Supreme  tit  commences  niembeterf  — 

In  a  Printed  Sheet  of  the  assiduous,  rnuch-abused,  and  truly 
useful  Mr.  Chadwick's,  containing  queries  and  responses  from 
far  and  near  as  to  this  great  question,  "  What  is  the  effect  of 
education  on  working-men,  in  respect  of  their  value  as  more 
workers?"  the  present  Editor,  reading  with  satisfaction  a  deci- 
sive unanimous  verdict  as  to  Education,  reads  with  inexpressi- 
ble interest  this  special  remark,  put  in  by  way  of  marginal 
incidental  note,  from  a  practical  manufacturing  Quaker,  whom, 
as  he  is  anonymous,  we  will  call  Friend  Prudence.  Prudence 
keeps  a  thousand  workmen ;  has  striven  in  all  ways  to  attach 


26  S  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  IV. 

them  to  him ;  has  provided  conversational  soirees ;  play-grounds, 
bands  of  music  for  the  young  ones  ;  went  even  "  the  length  of 
buying  them  a  drum : "  all  which  has  turned  out  to  be  an  ex- 
cellent investment.  For  a  certain  person,  marked  here  by  a 
black  stroke,  whom  we  shall  name  Blank,  living  over  the  way,  • 
—  he  also  keeps  somewhere  about  a  thousand  men ;  but  has ' 
done  none  of  these  things  for  them,  nor  any  other  thing,  except 
due  payment  of  the  wages  by  supply-and-demand.  Blank's 
workers  are  perpetually  getting  into  mutiny,  into  broils  and 
coils :  every  six  months,  we  suppose,  Blank  has  a  strike ;  every 
one  month,  every  day  and  every  hour,  they  are  fretting  and  ob- 
structing the  short-sighted  Blank ;  pilfering  from  him,  wasting 
and  idling  for  him,  omitting  and  committing  for  him.  "I 
would  not,"  says  Friend  Prudence,  "  exchange  my  workers  for 
his  with  seven  thousand  pounds  to  loot."  1 

Right,  0  honorable  Prudence  ;  thou  art  wholly  in  the  right : 
Seven  thousand  pounds  even  as  a  matter  of  profit  for  this 
world,  nay  for  the  mere  cash-market  of  this  world!  And  as 
a  matter  of  profit  not  for  this  world  only,  but  for  the  other 
world  and  all  worlds,  it  outweighs  the  Bank  of  England  !  — 
Can  the  sagacious  reader  descry  here,  as  it  were  the  outmost 
inconsiderable  rock-ledge  of  a  universal  rock-foundation,  deep 
once  more  as  the  Centre  of  the  World,  emerging  so,  in  the 
experience  of  this  good  Quaker,  through  the  Stygian  mud- 
vortexes  and  general  Mother  of  Dead  Dogs,  whereon,  for  the 
present,  all  swags  and  insecurely  hovers,  as  if  ready  to  be 
swallowed  ? 

Some  Permanence  of  Contract  is  already  almost  possible  ; 
the  principle  of  Permanence,  year  by  year,  better  seen  into 
and  elaborated,  may  enlarge  itself,  expand  gradually  on  every 
side  into  a  system.  This  once  secured,  the  basis  of  all  good 
results  were  laid.  Once  permanent,  you  do  not  quarrel  with 
the  first  difficulty  on  your  path,  and  quit  it  in  weak  disgust ; 
you  reflect  that  it  cannot  be  quitted,  that  it  must  be  conquered, 
a  wise  arrangement  fallen  on  with  regard  to  it.  Ye  foolish 
Wedded  Two,  who  have  quarrelled,  between  whom  the  Evil 

1  Report  on  t/te  Training  of  Pauper  Children  (1841),  p.  18. 


.  V.  PERMANENCE.  269 

Spirit  lias  stirred  up  transient  strife  and  bitterness,  so  that 
"  incompatibility  "  seems  almost  nigh,  ye  are  nevertheless  the 
Two  who,  by  long  habit,  were  it  by  nothing  more,  do  best  of  all 
others  suit  each  other :  it  is  expedient  for  your  own  two  foolish 
selves,  to  say  nothing  of  the  infants,  pedigrees  and  public  in 
general,  that  ye  agree  again ;  that  ye  put  away  the  Evil  Spirit, 
and  wisely  on  both  hands  struggle  for  the  guidance  of  a  Good 
Spirit ! 

The  very  horse  that  is  permanent,  how  much  kindlier  do 
his  rider  and  he  work,  than  the  temporary  one,  hired  on  any 
hack  principle  yet  known !  I  am  for  permanence  in  all  things, 
at  the  earliest  possible  moment,  and  to  the  latest  possible. 
lUessed  is  he  that  continueth  where  he  is.  Here  let  us  rest, 
and  lay  out  seedfields ;  here  let  us  learn  to  dwell.  Here, 
even  here,  the  orchards  that  we  plant  will  yield  us  fruit ;  the 
acorns  will  be  wood  and  pleasant  umbrage,  if  we  wait.  How 
much  grows  everywhere,  if  we  do  but  wait !  Through  the 
swamps  we  will  shape  causeways,  force  purifying  drains ;  we 
will  learn  to  thread  the  rocky  inaccessibilities ;  and  beaten 
tracks,  worn  smooth  by  mere  travelling  of  human  feet,  will 
form  themselves.  Not  a  difficulty  but  can  transfigure  itself 
into  a  triumph;  not  even  a  deformity  but,  if  our  own  soul 
have  imprinted  worth  on  it,  will  grow  dear  to  us.  The  sunny 
plains  and  deep  indigo  transparent  skies  of  Italy  are  all  indif- 
ferent to  the  great  sick  heart  of  a  Sir  Walter  Scott :  on  the 
back  of  the  Apennines,  in  wild  spring  weather,  the  sight  of 
bleak  Scotch  firs,  and  snow-spotted  heath  and  desolation, 
brings  tears  into  his  eyes.1 

0  unwise  mortals  tliat  forever  change  and  shift,  and  say, 
Yonder,  not  Here !  Wealth  richer  than  both  the  Indies  lies 
everywhere  for  man,  if  he  will  endure.  Not  his  oaks  only  and 
his  fruit-trees,  his  very  heart  roots  itself  wherever  he  will 
abide ;  —  roots  itself,  draws  nourishment  from  the  deep  foun- 
tains of  Universal  Being!  Vagrant  Sam-Slicks,  who  rove 
over  the  Earth  doing  "strokes  of  trade,"  what  wealth  have 
they  ?  Horse-loads,  ship-loads  of  white  or  yellow  metal :  in 
very  sooth,  what  are  these  ?  Slick  rests  nowhere,  he  is  home- 
1  Lockbart's  Life  of  Scott. 


2TO  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  IV. 

less.  He  can  build  stone  or  marble  houses ;  but  to  continue 
in  them  is  denied  him.  The  wealth  of  a  man  is  the  number 
of  things  which  he  loves  and  blesses,  which  he  is  loved  and 
blessed  by !  The  herdsman  in  his  poor  clay  shealing,  where 
his  very  cow  and  dog  are  friends  to  him,  and  not  a  cataract 
but  carries  memories  for  him,  and  not  a  mountain-top  but  nods 
old  recognition :  his  life,  all  encircled  as  in  blessed  mother's- 
arms,  is  it  poorer  than  Slick's  with  the  ass-loads  of  yellov 
metal  on  his  back  ?  Unhappy  Slick !  Alas,  there  has  so  much 
grown  nomadic,  apelike,  with  us  :  so  much  will  have,  with 
whatever  pain,  repugnance  and  "  impossibility,"  to  alter  itself, 
to  fix  itself  again,  —  in  some  wise  way,  in  any  not  delirious 
way ! 

A  question  arises  here :  Whether,  in  some  ulterior,  perhaps 
some  not  far-distant  stage  of  this  "  Chivalry  of  Labor,"  your 
Master- Worker  may  not  find  it  possible,  and  needful,  to  grant 
his  Workers  permanent  interest  in  his  enterprise  and  theirs  ? 
So  that  it  become,  in  practical  result,  what  in  essential  fact 
and  justice  it  ever  is,  a  joint  enterprise ;  all  men,  from  the 
Chief  Master  down  to  the  lowest  Overseer  and  Operative, 
economically  as  well  as  loyally  concerned  for  it  ?  —  Which 
question  I  do  not  answer.  The  answer,  near  or  else  far,  is 
perhaps,  Yes ;  —  and  yet  one  knows  the  difficulties.  Despot 
ism  is  essential  in  most  enterprises ;  I  am  told,  they  do  not 
tolerate  "  freedom  of  debate  "  on  board  a  Seventy-four  !  Re- 
publican senate  and  plebiscita  would  not  answer  well  in  Cotton- 
Mills.  And  yet  observe  there  too:  Freedom,  not  nomad's  or 
ape's  Freedom,  but  man's  Freedom ;  this  is  indispensable. 
We  must  have  it,  and  will  have  it !  To  reconcile  Despotism 
with  Freedom:  —  well,  is  that  such  a  mystery?  Do  you  not 
already  know  the  way  ?  It  is  to  make  your  Despotism  just. 
Rigorous  as  Destiny  ;  but  just  too,  as  Destiny  and  its  Laws. 
The  Laws  of  God :  all  men  obey  these,  and  have  no  "  Free- 
dom "  at  all  but  in  obeying  them.  The  way  is  already  known, 
part  of  the  way ;  —  and  courage  and  some  qualities  are  needed 
for  walking  on  it ! 


CHAP.  VL  THE  LANDED.  271 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE    LANDED. 

A  MAX  with  fifty,  with  five  hundred,  with  a  thousand  pounds 
a  day,  given  him  freely,  without  condition  at  all,  —  on  condi- 
tion, as  it  now  runs,  that  he  will  sit  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  do  no  mischief,  pass  no  Corn-Laws  or  the  like,  — 
he  too,  you  would  say,  is  or  might  be  a  rather  strong  Worker ! 
He  is  a  Worker  with  such  tools  as  no  man  in  this  world  ever 
before  had.  But  in  practice,  very  astonishing,  very  ominous 
to  look  at,  he  proves  not  a  strong  Worker; — you  are  too 
happy  if  he  will  prove  but  a  No-worker,  do  nothing,  and  not 
be  a  Wrong-worker. 

You  ask  him,  at  the  year's  end:  "Where  is  your  three 
hundred  thousand  pound ;  what  have  you  realized  to  us  with 
that  ?  "  He  answers,  in  indignant  surprise  :  "  Done  with  it  ? 
Who  are  you  that  ask  ?  I  have  eaten  it ;  I  and  my  flunkies, 
and  parasites,  and  slaves  two-footed  and  four-footed,  in  an 
ornamental  manner;  and  I  am  here  alive  by  it;  7am  realized 
by  it  to  you ! "  —  It  is,  as  we  have  often  said,  such  an  answer 
as  was  never  before  given  under  this  Sun.  An  answer  that 
fills  me  with  boding  apprehension,  with  foreshadows  of  de- 
spair. O  stolid  Use-and-wont  of  an  atheistic  Half-century, 
< )  Ignavia,  Tailor-godhood,  soul-killing  Cant,  to  what  passes 
art  thou  bringing  us !  —  Out  of  the  loud-piping  whirlwind, 
audibly  to  him  that  has  ears,  the  Highest  God  is  again 
announcing  in  these  days  :  "  Idleness  shall  not  be."  God 
has  said  it,  man  cannot  gainsay. 

Ah,  how  happy  were  it,  if  he  this  Aristocrat  Worker  would, 
in  like  manner,  see  his  work  and  do  it !  It  is  frightful  seek- 
ing another  to  do  it  for  him.  Guillotines,  Meudon  Tanneries, 
and  half  a  million  men  shot  dead,  have  already  been  expended 
in  that  business ;  and  it  is  yet  far  from  done.  This  man  too 


272  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  IV. 

is  something^  nay  he  is  a  great  thing.  Look  on  him  there  :  a 
man  of  manful  aspect;  something  of  the  "cheerfulness  of 
pride  "  still  lingering  in  him.  A  free  air  of  graceful  stoicism, 
of  easy  silent  dignity  sits  well  on  him  ;  in  his  heart,  could  we 
reach  it,  lie  elements  of  generosity,  self-sacrificing  justice,  true 
human  valor.  Why  should  he,  with  such  appliances,  stand  an 
incumbrauce  in  the  Present ;  perish  disastrously  out  of  the 
Future  !  From  no  section  of  the  Future  would  we  lose  these 
noble  courtesies,  impalpable  yet  all-controlling  ;  these  dignified 
reticences,  these  kingly  simplicities ;  —  lose  aught  of  what  the 
fruitful  Past  still  gives  us  token  of,  memento  of,  in  this  man. 
Can  we  not  save  him :  —  can  he  not  help  us  to  save  him  !  A 
brave  man,  he  too  ;  had  not  undivine  Ignavia,  Hearsay,  Speech 
without  meaning,  —  had  not  Cant,  thousand-fold  Cant  within 
him  and  around  him,  enveloping  him  like  choke-damp,  like 
thick  Egyptian  darkness,  thrown  his  soul  into  asphyxia,  as  it 
were  extinguished  his  soul ;  so  that  he  sees  not,  hears  not,  and 
Moses  and  all  the  Prophets  address  him  in  vain. 

Will  he  awaken,  be  alive  again,  and  have  a  soul;  or  is 
this  death-fit  very  death  ?  It  is  a  question  of  questions,  for 
himself  and  for  us  all ! '  Alas,  is  there  no  noble  work  for 
this  man  too  ?  Has  not  he  thick-headed  ignorant  boors  ; 
lazy,  enslaved  farmers,  weedy  lands  ?  Lands  !  Has  not  he 
weary  heavy-laden  ploughers  of  land ;  immortal  souls  of  men, 
ploughing,  ditching,  day -drudging ;  bare  of  back,  empty  of 
stomach,  nigh  desperate  of  heart  ;  and  none  peaceably  to  help 
them  but  he,  under  Heaven  ?  Does  he  find,  with  his  three 
hundred  thousand  pounds,  no  noble  thing  trodden  down  in  the 
thoroughfares,  which  it  were  godlike  to  help  up  ?  Can  he  do 
nothing  for  his  Burns  but  make  a  Ganger  of  him  ;  lionize  him, 
bedinner  him,  for  a  foolish  while  :  then  whistle  him  down  the 
wind,  to  desperation  and  bitter  death  ?  —  His  work  too  is  dif- 
ficult, in  these  modern,  far-dislocated  ages.  But  it  may  be 
done  ;  it  may  be  tried  ;  —  it  must  be  done. 

A  modern  Duke  of  Weimar,  not  a  god  he  either,  but  a  human 
duke,  levied,  as  I  reckon,  in  rents  and  taxes  and  all  incomings 
whatsoever,  less  than  several  of  our  English  Dukes  do  in  rent 
alono.  The  Duke  of  Weimar,  with  these  incomings,  had  to 


CHAP.  VI.  THE   LANDED.  273 

govern,  judge,  defend,  every  way  administer  his  Dukedom.  He 
does  all  this  as  few  others  did :  and  he  improves  lands  besides 
;dl  this,  makes  river-embankments,  maintains  not  soldiers  only 
but  Universities  and  Institutions  ;  —  and  in  his  Court  were 
these  four  men:  Wielaud,  Herder,  Schiller,  Goethe.  Not  as 
parasites,  which  was  impossible  ;  not  as  table-wits  and  poetic 
Katerfeltoes ;  but  as  noble  Spiritual  Men  working  under  a 
noble  Practical  Man.  Shielded  by  him  from  many  miseries ; 
perhaps  from  many  shortcomings,  destructive  aberrations. 
Heaven  had  sent,  once  more,  heavenly  Light  into  the  world  ; 
and  this  man's  honor  was  that  he  gave  it  welcome.  A  new 
noble  kind  of  Clergy,  under  an  old  but  still  noble  kind  of 
King !  I  reckon  that  this  one  Duke  of  Weimar  did  more  for 
the  Culture  of  his  Nation  than  all  the  English  Dukes  and  Duces 
now  extant,  or  that  were  extant  since  Henry  the  Eighth  gave 
them  the  Church  Lands  to  eat,  have  done  for  theirs  !  —  I  am 
ashamed,  I  am  alarmed  for  uiy  English  Dukes :  what  word 
have  I  to  say  ? 

If  our  Actual  Aristocracy,  appointed  "  Best-and-Bravest," 
will  be  wise,  how  inexpressibly  happy  for  us  !  If  not,  —  the 
voice  of  God  from  the  whirlwind  is  very  audible  to  me.  Nay, 
I  will  thank  the  Great  God,  that  He  has  said,  in  whatever 
fearful  ways,  and  just  wrath  against  us,  "  Idleness  shall  be  no 
more  !  "  Idleness  ?  The  awakened  soul  of  man,  all  but  the 
asphyxied  soul  of  man,  turns  from  it  as  from  worse  than  death. 
It  is  the  life-in-death  of  Poet  Coleridge.  That  fable  of  the 
Dead-Sea  Apes  ceases  to  be  a  fable.  The  poor  Worker  starved 
to  death  is  not  the  saddest  of  sights.  He  lies  there,  dead  on 
his  shield ;  fallen  down  into  the  bosom  of  his  old  Mother ; 
with  haggard  pale  face,  sorrow-worn,  but  stilled  now  into  divine 
peace,  silently  appeals  to  the  Eternal  God  and  all  the  Uni- 
verse, —  the  most  silent,  the  most  eloquent  of  men. 

Exceptions,  —  ah  yes,  thank  Heaven,  we  know  there  are 
exceptions.  Our  case  were  too  hard,  were  there  not  excep- 
tions, and  partial  exceptions  not  a  few,  whom  we  know,  and 
whom  we  do  not  know.  Honor  to  the  name  of  Ashley,  — 
honor  to  this  and  the  other  valiant  Abdiel,  found  faithful  still ; 
who  would  fain,  by  work  and  by  word,  admonish  their  Order 

vol..    XII.  18 


274  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  IV. 

not  to  rush  upon  destruction  !  These  are  they  who  will,  if  not 
save  their  Order,  postpone  the  wreck  of  it ;  —  by  whom,  under 
blessing  of  the  Upper  Powers,  "a  quiet  euthanasia  spread 
over  generations,  instead  of  a  swift  torture-death  concentred 
into  years,"  may  be  brought  about  for  many  things.  All  honor 
and  success  to  these.  The  noble  man  can  still  strive  nobly  to 
save  and  serve  his  Order; — at  lowest,  he  can  remember  the 
precept  of  the  Prophet :  "  Come  out  of  her,  my  people ;  come 
out  of  her !  " 

To  sit  idle  aloft,  like  living  statues,  like  absurd  Epicurus'- 
gods,  in  pampered  isolation,  in  exclusion  from  the  glorious 
fateful  battle-field  of  this  God's-World :  it  is  a  poor  life  for  a 
man,  when  all  Upholsterers  and  French-Cooks  have  done  their 
utmost  for  it ! — Nay  what  a  shallow  delusion  is  this  we  have 
all  got  into,  That  any  man  should  or  can  keep  himself  apart 
from  men,  have  "  no  business "  with  them,  except  a  cash- 
account  "  business  "  !  It  is  the  silliest  tale  a  distressed  gen- 
eration of  men  ever  took  to  telling  one  another.  Men  cannot 
live  isolated :  we  are  all  bound  together,  for  mutual  good 
or  else  for  mutual  misery,  as  living  nerves  in  the  same  body. 
No  highest  man  can  disunite  himself  from  any  lowest.  Con- 
sider it.  Your  poor  "  Werter  blowing  out  his  distracted  exist- 
ence because  Charlotte  will  not  have  the  keeping  thereof :  " 
this  is  no  peculiar  phasis  ;  it  is  simply  the  highest  expression 
of  a  phasis  traceable  wherever  one  human  creature  meets 
another !  Let  the  meanest  crook-backed  Thersites  teach  the 
supremest  Agamemnon  that  he  actually  does  not  reverence 
him,  the  supremest  Agamemnon's  eyes  flash  fire  responsive ; 
a  real  pain  and  partial  insanity  has  seized  Agamemnon. 
Strange  enough  :  a  many-counselled  Ulysses  is  set  in  motion 
by  a  scoundrel-blockhead ;  plays  tunes,  like  barrel-organ  at 
the  scoundrel  blockhead's  touch, — has  to  snatch,  namely,  his 
sceptre-cudgel,  and  weal  the  crooked  back  witli  bumps  and 
thumps  !  Let  a  chief  of  men  reflect  well  on  it.  Not  in  hav- 
ing "  no  business  "  with  men,  but  in  having  no  unjust  business 
with  them,  and  in  haviny  all  manner  of  true  and  just  business, 
can  either  his  or  their  blessedness  be  found  possible,  and  this 


CIIAP.  VI.  THE  LANDED.  275 

waste  world  become,  for  both  parties,  a  home  and  peopled 
garden. 

Men  do  reverence  men.  Men  do  worship  in  that  "  one  tem- 
ple of  the  world,"  as  Novalis  calls  it,  the  Presence  of  a  Man  ! 
Hero-worship,  true  and  blessed,  or  else  mistaken,  false  and 
accursed,  goes  on  everywhere  and  every  when.  In  this  world 
there  is  one  godlike  thing,  the  essence  of  all  that  was  or  ever 
will  be  of  godlike  in  this  world  :  the  veneration  done  to  Human 
Worth  by  the  hearts  of  men.  Hero-worship,  in  the  souls  of 
the  heroic,  of  the  clear  and  wise,  —  it  is  the  perpetual  pres- 
ence of  Heaven  in  our  poor  Earth  :  when  it  is  not  there, 
Heaven  is  veiled  from  us ;  and  all  is  under  Heaven's  ban  and 
interdict,  and  there  is  no  worship,  or  worth-ship,  or  worth  or 
blessedness  in  the  Earth  any  more  !  — 

Independence,  "  lord  of  the  lion-heart  and  eagle-eye,"  —  alas, 
yes,  he  is  one  we  have  got  acquainted  with  in  these  late  times  : 
a  very  indispensable  one,  for  spurning  off  with  due  energy  in- 
numerable sham-superiors,  Tailor-made :  honor  to  him,  entire 
success  to  him  !  Entire  success  is  sure  to  him.  But  he  must 
not  stop  there,  at  that  small  success,  with  his  eagle-eye.  He 
has  now  a  second  far  greater  success  to  gain :  to  seek  out  hrs 
real  superiors,  whom  not  the  Tailor  but  the  Almighty  God  has 
made  superior  to  him,  and  see  a  little  what  he  will  do  with' 
these !  Rebel  against  these  also  ?  Pass  by  with  minatory 
eagle-glance,  with  calm-sniffing  mockery,  or  even  without  any 
mockery  or  sniff,  when  these  present  themselves  ?  The  lion- 
hearted  will  never  dream  of  such  a  thing.  Forever  far  be  it 
from  him  !  His  minatory  eagle-glance  will  veil  itself  in  soft- 
ness of  the  dove:  his  lion-heart  will  become  a  lamb's  ;  all  its 
just  indignation  changed  into  just  reverence,  dissolved  in 
blessed  floods  of  noble  humble  love,  how  much  heavenlier  than 
any  pride,  nay,  if  you  will,  how  much  prouder!  I  know  him, 
this  lion-hearted,  eagle-eyed  one ;  have  met  him,  rushing  on, 
"  with  bosom  bare,"  in  a  very  distracted  dishevelled  manner, 
the  times  being  hard ;  —  and  can  say,  and  guarantee  on  my 
life,  That  in  him  is  no  rebellion  ;  that  in  him  is  the  reverse  of 
rebellion,  the  needful  preparation  for  obedience.  For  if  you 


276  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  IV. 

do  mean  to  obey  God-made  superiors,  your  first  step  is  to 
sweep  out  the  Tailor-made  ones ;  order  them,  under  penalties, 
to  vanish,  to  make  ready  for  vanishing ! 

Nay,  what  is  best  of  all,  he  cannot  rebel,  if  he  would. 
Superiors  whom  God  has  made  for  us  we  cannot  order  to 
withdraw  !  Not  in  the  teast.  No  Grand-Turk  himself,  thick- 
est-quilted tailor-made  Brother  of  the  Sun  and  Moon  can  do 
it :  but  an  Arab  Man,  in  cloak  of  his  own  clouting ;  with  black 
beaming  eyes,  with  naming  sovereign-heart  direct  from  the 
centre  of  the  Universe;  and  also,  I  am  told,  with  terrible 
"horse-shoe  vein"  of  swelling  wrath  in  his  brow,  and  light- 
ning (if  you  will  not  have  it  as  light)  tingling  through  every 
vein  of  him,  —  he  rises  ;  says  authoritatively  :  "  Thickest- 
quilted  Grand-Turk,  tailor-made  Brother  of  the  Sun  and  Moon, 
No:  —  /withdraw  not;  thou  shalt  obey  me  or  withdraw!" 
And  so  accordingly  it  is  :  thickest-quilted  Grand-Turks  and  all 
their  progeny,  to  this  hour,  obey  that  man  in  the  remarkablest 
manner ;  preferring  not  to  withdraw. 

0  brother,  it  is  an  endless  consolation  to  me,  in  this  disor- 
ganic,  as  yet  so  quack-ridden,  what  you  may  well  call  hag- 
ridden and  hell-ridden  world,  to  find  that  disobedience  to  the 
Heavens,  when  they  send  any  messenger  whatever,  is  and 
remains  impossible.  It  cannot  be  done ;  no  Turk  grand  or 
small  can  do  it.  "  Show  the  dullest  clodpoll,"  says  my  inval- 
uable German  friend,  "show  the  haughtiest  feather-head,  that 
a  soul  higher  than  himself  is  here  ;  were  his  knees  stiffened 
into  brass,  he  must  down  and  worship." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    GIFTED. 

YES,  in  what  tumultuous  huge  anarchy  soever  a  Noble  hu- 
man Principle  may  dwell  and  strive,  such  tumult  is  in  the  way 
of  being  calmed  into  a  fruitful  sovereignty.  It  is  inevitable. 
No  Chaos  can  continue  chaotic  with  a  soul  in  it.  Besouled 


CHAI-.  VII. 


THE  GIFTED.  277 


with  earnest  human  Nobleness,  did  not  slaughter,  violence  and 
fire-eyed  fury,  grow  into  a  Chivalry  ;  into  a  blessed  Loyalty 
of  Governor  and  Governed  ?  And  in  Work,  which  is  of  itself 
noble,  and  the  only  true  fighting,  there  shall  be  no  such  possi- 
bility ?  Believe  it  not ;  it  is  incredible ;  the  whole  Universe 
contradicts  it.  Here  too  the  Choctaw  Principle  will  be  subor- 
dinated ;  the  Man  Principle  will,  by  degrees,  become  superior, 
become  supreme. 

I  know  Mammon  too;  Banks-of-England,  Credit-Systems, 
world-wide  possibilities  of  work  and  traffic ;  and  applaud  and 
admire  them.  Mammon  is  like  Fire ;  the  usefulest  of  all  ser- 
vants, if  the  f  rightfulest  of  all  masters !  The  Cliffords,  Fitz- 
adelms  and  Chivalry  Fighters  "  wished  to  gain  victory,"  never 
doubt  it :  but  victory,  unless  gained  in  a  certain  spirit,  was  no 
victory ;  defeat,  sustained  in  a  certain  spirit,  was  itself  victory. 
I  say  again  and  again,  had  they  counted  the  scalps  alone,  they 
had  continued  Choctaws,  and  no  Chivalry  or  lasting  victory 
had  been.  And  in  Industrial  Fighters  and  Captains  is  there 
no  nobleness  discoverable  ?  To  them,  alone  of  men,  there 
shall  forever  be  no  blessedness  but  in  swollen  coffers  ?  To 
see  beauty,  order,  gratitude,  loyal  human  hearts  around  them, 
shall  be  of  no  moment ;  to  see  fuliginous  deformity,  mutiny, 
hatred  and  despair,  with  the  addition  of  half  a  million  guineas, 
shall  be  better  ?  Heaven's  blessedness  not  there ;  Hell's 
cursedness,  and  your  half-million  bits  of  metal,  a  substitute 
for  that !  Is  there  no  profit  in  diffusing  Heaven's  blessedness, 
but  only  in  gaining  gold  ?  —  If  so,  I  apprise  the  Mill-owner 
and  Millionnaire,  that  he  too  must  prepare  for  vanishing  ;  that 
neither  is  he  born  to  be  of  the  sovereigns  of  this  world ;  that 
he  will  have  to  be  trampled  and  chained  down  in  whatever 
terrible  ways,  and  brass-collarod  safe,  among  the  born  thralls 
of  this  world!  We  cannot  have  CnnaiJles  and  Doggeries  that 
will  not  make  some  Chivalry  of  themselves :  our  noble  Planet 
is  impatient  of  such  ;  in  the  end,  totally  intolerant  of  such  ! 

For  the  Heavens,  unwearying  in  their  bounty,  do  send  other 
souls  into  this  world,  to  whom  yet,  as  to  their  forerunners,  in 
Old  Roman,  in  Old  Hebrew  and  all  noble  times,  the  omnipo- 
tent guinea  is,  on  the  whole,  an  impotent  guinea.  Has  your 


278  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  IV. 

half -dead  avaricious  Corn-Law  Lord,  your  half-alive  avaricious 
Cotton-Law  Lord,  never  seen  one  such?  Such  are,  not  one, 
but  several ;  are,  and  will  be,  unless  the  Gods  have  doomed 
this  world  to  swift  dire  ruin.  These  are  they,  the  elect  of  the 
world ;  the  born  champions,  strong  men,  and  liberatory  Sam- 
sons of  this  poor  world :  whom  the  poor  Delilah-world  will 
not  always  shear  of  their  strength  and  eyesight,  and  set  to 
grind  in  darkness  at  its  poor  gin-wheel !  Such  souls  are,  in 
these  days,  getting  somewhat  out  of  humor  with  the  world. 
Your  very  Byron,  in  these  days,  is  at  least  driven  mad ;  flatly 
refuses  fealty  to  the  world.  The  world  with  its  injustices,  its 
golden  brutalities,  and  dull  yellow  guineas,  is  a  disgust  to  such 
souls  :  the  ray  of  Heaven  that  is  in  them  does  at  least  pre- 
doom  them  to  be  very  miserable  here.  Yes:  —  and  yet  all 
misery  is  faculty  misdirected,  strength  that  has  not  yet  found 
its  way.  The  black  whirlwind  is  mother  of  the  lightning. 
No  smoke,  in  any  sense,  but  can  become  flame  and  radiance ! 
Such  soul,  once  graduated  in  Heaven's  stern  University,  steps 
out  superior  to  your  guinea. 

Dost  thou  know,  0  sumptuous  Corn-Lord,  Cotton-Lord,  0 
mutinous  Trades-Unionist,  gin-vanquished,  undeliverable ;  0 
much-enslaved  World,  —  this  man  is  not  a  slave  with  thee  ! 
None  of  thy  promotions  is  necessary  for  him.  His  place  is 
with  the  stars  of  Heaven :  to  thee  it  may  be  momentous,  to 
thee  it  may  be  life  or  death,  to  him  it  is  indifferent,  whether 
thou  place  him  in  the  lowest  hut,  or  forty  feet  higher  at  the 
top  of  thy  stupendous  high  tower,  while  here  on  Earth.  The 
joys  of  Earth  that  are  precious,  they  depend  not  on  thee  and 
thy  promotions.  Food  and  raiment,  and,  round  a  social  hearth, 
souls  who  love  him,  whom  he  loves :  these  are  already  his.  He 
wants  none  of  thy  rewards  ;  behold  also,  he  fears  none  of  thy 
penalties.  Thou  canst  not  answer  even  by  killing  him  :  the 
case  of  Anaxarchus  thou  canst  kill ;  but  the  self  of  Anaxar- 
chus,  the  word  or  act  of  Anaxarchus,  in  no  wise  whatever.  To 
this  man  death  is  not  a  bugbear  ;  to  this  man  life  is  already  as 
earnest  and  awful,  and  beautiful  and  terrible,  as  death. 

Not  a  May-game  is  this  man's  life  ;  but  a  battle  and  a  march, 
a  warfare  with  principalities  and  powers.  No  idle  prome- 


CHAP.  Vrt.  THE  GIFTED.  279 

uade  through  fragrant  orange-groves  and  green  flowery  spaces, 
waited  on  by  the  choral  Muses  and  the  rosy  Hours  :  it  is  a 
stern  pilgrimage  through  burning  sandy  solitudes,  through 
regions  of  thick-ribbed  ice.  He  walks  among  men ;  loves  men, 
with  inexpressible  soft  pity,  —  as  they  cannot  love  him  :  but 
his  soul  dwells  iu  solitude,  in  the  uttermost  parts  of  Creation. 
In  green  oases  by  the  palm-tree  wells,  he  rests  a  space  ;  but 
anon  he  lias  to  journey  forward,  escorted  by  the  Terrors  and 
the  Splendors,  the  Airhdemons  and  Archangels.  All  Heaven, 
all  Pandemonium  are  his  escort.  The  stars  keen-glancing,  from 
the  Immensities,  send  tidings  to  him ;  the  graves,  silent  with 
their  dead,  from  the  Eternities.  Deep  calls  for  him  unto  Deep. 
Thou,  0  World,  how  wilt  thou  secure  thyself  against  this 
man  ?  Thou  canst  not  hire  him  by  thy  guineas ;  nor  by  thy 
gibbets  and  law-penalties  restrain  him.  He  eludes  thee  like  a 
Spirit.  Thou  canst  not  forward  him,  thou  canst  not  hinder 
him.  Thy  penalties,  thy  poverties,  neglects,  contumelies  :  be- 
hold, all  these  are  good  for  him.  Come  to  him  as  an  enemy ; 
turn  from  him  as  an  unfriend ;  only  do  not  this  one  thing,  — 
infect  him  not  with  thy  own  delusion:  the  benign  Genius, 
were  it  by  very  death,  shall  guard  him  against  this  !  —  What 
wilt  thou  do  with  him  ?  He  is  above  thee,  like  a  god.  Thou, 
in  thy  stupendous  three-inch  pattens,  art  under  him.  He  is 
thy  born  king,  thy  conqueror  and  supreme  lawgiver  :  not  all 
the  guineas  and  cannons,  and  leather  and  prunella,  under  the 
sky  can  save  thee  from  him.  Hardest  thick-skinned  Mammon- 
world,  ruggedest  Caliban  shall  obey  him,  or  become  not  Caliban 
but  a  cramp.  Oh,  if  in  this  man,  whose  eyes  can  flash  Heav- 
en's lightning,  and  make  all  Calibans  into  a  cramp,  there 
dwelt  not,  as  the  essence  of  his  very  being,  a  God's  justice, 
human  Xobleness,  Veracity  and  Mercy,  —  I  should  tremble  for 
the  world.  But  his  strength,  let  us  rejoice  to  understand,  is 
even  this  :  The  quantity  of  Justice,  of  Valor  and  Pity  that  is 
in  him.  To  hypocrites  and  tailored  quacks  in  high  places  his 
eyes  are  lightning ;  but  they  melt  in  dewy  pity  softer  than  a 
mother's  to  the  down-pressed,  maltreated  ;  in  his  heart,  in  his 
great  thought,  is  a  sanctuary  for  all  the  wretched.  This  world's 
improvement  is  forever  sure. 


280  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  IV. 

"  Man  of  Genius  ? "  Thou  hast  small  notion,  meseems,  0 
Maecenas  Twiddledee,  of  what  a  Man  of  Genius  is.  Read  in 
thy  New  Testament  and  elsewhere,  —  if,  with  floods  of  mealy- 
mouthed  inanity ;  with  miserable  froth-vortices  of  Cant  now 
several  centuries  old,  thy  New  Testament  is  not  all  bedimmed 
for  thee.  Canst  thou  read  in  thy  New  Testament  at  all? 
The  Highest  Man  of  Genius,  knowest  thou  him ;  Godlike  and 
a  God  to  this  hour  ?  His  crown  a  Crown  of  Thorns  ?  Thou 
fool,  with  thy  empty  Godhoods,  Apotheoses  edge-gilt;  the 
Crown  of  Thorns  made  into  a  poor  jewel-room  crown,  fit  for 
the  head  of  blockheads ;  the  bearing  of  the  Cross  changed  to 
a  riding  in  the  Long-Acre  Gig !  Pause  in  thy  mass-chantings, 
in  thy  litanyings,  and  Calmuck  prayings  by  machinery;  and 
pray,  if  noisily,  at  least  in  a  more  human  manner.  How  with 
thy  rubrics  and  dalmatics,  and  clothwebs  and  cobwebs,  and 
with  thy  stupidities  and  grovelling  base-heartedness,  hast  thou 
hidden  the  Holiest  into  all  but  invisibility  !  — 

"  Man  of  Genius  :  "  0  Maecenas  Twiddledee,  hast  thou  any 
notion  what  a  Man  of  Genius  is  ?  Genius  is  "  the  inspired 
gift  of  God."  It  is  the  clearer  presence  of  God  Most  High  in 
a  man.  Dim,  potential  in  all  men  ;  in  this  man  it  has  become 
clear,  actual.  So  says  John  Milton,  who  ought  to  be  a  judge  ; 
so  answer  him  the  Voices  of  all  Ages  and  all  Worlds.  Wouldst 
thou  commune  with  such  a  one  ?  Be  his  real  peer,  then  :  does 
that  lie  in  thee  ?  Know  thyself  and  thy  real  and  thy  appar- 
ent place,  and  know  him  and  his  real  and  his  apparent  place, 
and  act  in  some  noble  conformity  with  all  that.  What  ! 
The  star-fire  of  the  Empyrean  shall  eclipse  itself,  and  illumi- 
nate magic-lanterns  to  amuse  grown  children  ?  He,  the  god- 
inspired,  is  to  twang  harps  for  thee,  and  blow  through  scrannel- 
pipes,  to  soothe  thy  sated  soul  with  visions  of  new,  still  wider 
Eldorados,  Houri  Paradises,  richer  Lands  of  Cockaigne  ? 
Brother,  this  is  not  he  ;  this  is  a  counterfeit,  this  twangling, 
jangling,  vain,  acrid,  scrannel-piping  man.  Thou  dost  well  to 
say  with  sick  Saul,  "It  is  nought,  such  harping!"  —and  in 
sudden  rage,  to  grasp  thy  spear,  and  try  if  thou  canst  pin  such 
a  one  to  the  wall.  King  Saul  was  mistaken  in  his  man,  but 
thou  art  right  in  thine.  It  is  the  due  of  such  a  one  :  nail  him 


CHAP.  VIII. 


THE   DIDACTIC.  281 


to  the  wall,  and  leave  him  there.  So  ought  copper  shillings  to 
be  nailed  on  counters  ;  copper  geniuses  on  walls,  and  left  there 
for  a  sign  !  — 

I  conclude  that  the  Men  of  Letters  too  may  become  a 
"  Chivalry,"  an  actual  instead  of  a  virtual  Priesthood,  with 
result  immeasurable,  —  so  soon  as  there  is  nobleness  in  them- 
selves for  that.  And,  to  a  certainty,  not  sooner  !  Of  intrinsic 
Valetisnis  you  cannot,  with  whole  Parliaments  to  help  you, 
make  a  Heroism.  Doggeries  never  so  gold-plated,  Doggeries 
never  so  escutcheoned,  Doggeries  never  so  diplomaed,  bepuffed, 
gas-lighted,  continue  Doggeries,  and  must  take  the  fate  of 
such. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    DIDACTIC. 

CERTAINLY  it  were  a  fond  imagination  to  expect  that  any 
preaching  of  mine  could  abate  Maimnonism  ;  that  Bobus  of 
Houndsditch  will  love  his  guineas  less,  or  his  poor  soul  more, 
for  any  preaching  of  mine !  But  there  is  one  Preacher  who 
does  preach  witli  effect,  and  gradually  persuade  all  persons : 
his  name  is  Destiny,  is  Divine  Providence,  and  his  Sermon  the 
inflexible  Course  of  Things.  Experience  does  take  dreadfully 
high  school-wages  ;  but  he  teaches  like  no  other! 

1  revert  to  Friend  I'rudenee  the  good  Quaker's  refusal  of 
•'seven  thousand  pounds  to  boot."  Friend  Prudence's  prac- 
tical conclusion  will,  by  decrees,  become  that  of  all  rational 
practical  men  whatsoever.  On  the  present  scheme  and  princi- 
ple, Work  cannot  continue.  Trades'  Strikes.  Trades'  Unions, 
Chartisms;  mutiny,  squalor,  rage  and  desperate  revolt,  growing 
ever  more  desperate,  will  go  on  their  way.  As  dark  misery 
settles  down  on  us,  and  our  refuges  of  lies  fall  in  pieces  one 
after  one,  the  hearts  of  men,  now  at  last  serious,  will  turn  to 
refuges  of  truth.  The  eternal  stars  shine  out  again,  so  soon  as 
it  is  dark  enough. 

Begirt   with    desperate    Trades'   Unionism    and    Anarchic 


282  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  IV. 

Mutiny,  many  an  Industrial  Law-ward,  by  and  by,  who  lias 
neglected  to  make  laws  and  keep  them,  will  be  heard  saying 
to  himself :  "  Why  have  I  realized  five  hundred  thousand 
pounds  ?  I  rose  early  and  sat  late,  I  toiled  and  moiled,  and 
in  the  sweat  of  my  brow  and  of  my  soul  I  strove  to  gain  this 
money,  that  I  might  become  conspicuous,  and  have  some  honor 
among  my  fellow-creatures.  I  wanted  them  to  honor  me,  to 
love  me.  The  money  is  here,  earned  with  my  best  life-blood  : 
but  the  honor  ?  I  am  encircled  with  squalor,  with  hunger, 
rage,  and  sooty  desperation.  Not  honored,  hardly  even  en- 
vied ;  only  fools  and  the  flunky-species  so  much  as  envy  me. 
I  am  conspicuous,  —  us  a  mark  for  curses  and  brickbats.  What 
good  is  it  ?  My  five  hundred  scalps  hang  here  in  my  wigwam : 
would  to  Heaven  I  had  sought  something  else  than  the  scalps  ; 
would  to  Heaven  I  had  been  a  Christian  Fighter,  not  a  Choc- 
taw  one  !  To  have  ruled  and  fought  not  in  a  Mammonish  but 
in  a  Godlike  spirit ;  to  have  had  the  hearts  of  the  people  bless 
me,  as  a  true  ruler  and  captain  of  my  people  ;  to  have  felt  my 
own  heart  bless  me,  and  that  God  above  instead  of  Mammon 
below  was  blessing  me,  —  this  had  been  something.  Out  of 
my  sight,  ye  beggarly  five  hundred  scalps  of  banker's-thou- 
sands  :  I  will  try  for  something  other,  or  account  my  life  a 
tragical  futility ! " 

Friend  Prudence's  "  rock-ledge,"  as  we  called  it,  will  grad- 
ually disclose  itself  to  many  a  man  ;  to  all  men.  Gradually, 
assaulted  from  beneath  and  from  above,  the  Stygian  mud- 
deluge  of  Laissez-faire,  Supply-and-deinand,  Cash-payment  the 
one  Duty,  will  abate  on  all  hands  ;  and  the  everlasting  moun- 
tain-tops, and  secure  rock-foundations  that  reach  to  the  centre 
of  the  world,  and  rest  on  Nature's  self,  will  again  emerge,  to 
found  on,  and  to  build  on.  When  Mammon-worshippers  here 
and  there  begin  to  be  God-worshippers,  and  bipeds-of-prey  be- 
come men,  and  there  is  a  Soul  felt  once  more  in  the  huge- 
pulsing  elephantine  mechanic  Animalism  of  this  Earth,  it  will 
be  again  a  blessed  Earth. 

"  Men  cease  to  regard  money  ? "  cries  Bobus  of  Hounds- 
ditch  :  "  What  else  do  all  men  strive  for  ?  The  very  Bishop 
informs  me  that  Christianity  cannot  get  on  without  a  minimum 


CHAP.  VIII.  THE   DIDACTIC.  283 

of  Four  thousand  five  hundred  in  its  pocket.  Cease  to  regard 
money  ?  That  will  be  at  Doomsday  in  the  afternoon  !  "  —  O 
Bobus,  my  opinion  is  somewhat  different.  My  opinion  is,  that 
the  Upper  Towers  have  not  yet  determined  on  destroying  this 
Lower  World.  A  respectable,  ever-increasing  minority,  who 
do  strive  for  something  higher  than  money,  I  with  confidence 
anticipate  ;  ever-increasing,  till  there  be  a  sprinkling  of  them 
found  in  all  quarters,  as  salt  of  the  Eurth  once  more.  The 
Christianity  that  cannot  get  on  without  a  minimum  of  Four 
thousand  five  hundred,  will  give  place  to  something  better  that 
can.  Thou  wilt  not  join  our  small  minority,  thou  ?  Not  till 
Doomsday  in  the  afternoon  ?  Well ;  then,  at  least,  thou  wilt 
join  it,  thou  and  the  majority  in  mass  ! 

But  truly  it  is  beautiful  to  see  the  brutish  empire  of  Mam- 
mon cracking  everywhere ;  giving  sure  promise  of  dying,  or  of 
being  changed.  A  strange,  chill,  almost  ghastly  dayspring 
strikes  up  in  Yankeeland  itself :  my  Transcendental  friends 
announce  there,  in  a  distinct,  though  somewhat  lank-haired, 
ungainly  manner,  that  the  Demiurgus  Dollar  is  dethroned; 
that  new  unheard-of  Demiurgusships,  Priesthoods,  Aristocra- 
cies, Growths  and  Destructions,  are  already  visible  in  the  gray 
of  coming  Time.  Chronos  is  dethroned  by  Jove  ;  Odin  by  St. 
Olaf :  the  Dollar  cannot  rule  in  Heaven  forever.  No  ;  I  reckon, 
not.  Socinian  Preachers  quit  their  pulpits  in  Yankeeland, 
saying,  "Friends,  this  is  all  gone  to  colored  cobweb,  we  regret 
to  say  ! "  —  and  retire  into  the  fields  to  cultivate  onion-beds, 
and  live  frugally  on  vegetables.  It  is  very  notable.  Old 
godlike  Calvinism  declares  that  its  old  body  is  now  fallen  to 
tatters,  and  done ;  and  its  mournful  ghost,  disembodied,  seek- 
ing new  embodiment,  pipes  again  in  the  winds  ;  —  a  ghost 
and  spirit  as  yet,  but  heralding  new  Spirit-worlds,  and  better 
Dynasties  than  the  Dollar  one. 

Yes,  here  as  there,  light  is  coming  into  the  world ;  men  love 
not  darkness,  they  do  love  light.  A  deep  feeling  of  the 
eternal  nature  of  Justice  looks  out  among  us  everywhere, — 
even  through  the  dull  eyes  of  Exeter  Hall ;  an  unspeakable 
religiousness  struggles,  in  the  most  helpless  manner,  to  speak 
itself,  in  Puseyisms  and  the  like.  Of  our  Cant,  all  condemua- 


284  PAST  AND  PRESENT.  BOOK  IV. 

ble,  how  much  is  not  condemnable  without  pity ;  we  had  al- 
most said,  without  respect !  The  inarticulate  worth  and  truth 
that  is  in  England  goes  down  yet  to  the  Foundations. 

Some  "  Chivalry  of  Labor,"  some  noble  Humanity  and  prac- 
tical Divineness  of  Labor,  will  yet  be  realized  on  this  Earth. 
Or  why  will ;  why  do  we  pray  to  Heaven,  without  setting  our 
own  shoulder  to  the  wheel  ?  The  Present,  if  it  will  have  the 
Future  accomplish,  shall  itself  commence.  Thou  who  prophe- 
siest,  who  believest,  begin  thou  to  fulfil.  Here  or  nowhere, 
now  equally  as  at  any  time  !  That  outcast  help-needing  tiling 
or  person,  trampled  down  under  vulgar  feet  or  hoofs,  no  help 
"  possible  "  for  it,  no  prize  offered  for  the  saving  of  it,  —  canst 
not  thou  save  it,  then,  without  prize  ?  Put  forth  thy  hand,  in 
God's  name ;  know  that  "  impossible,"  where  Truth  and  Mercy 
and  the  everlasting  Voice  of  Nature  order,  has  no  place  in  the 
brave  man's  dictionary.  That  when  all  men  have  said  "  Im- 
possible," and  tumbled  noisily  else-whither,  and  thou  alone  art 
left,  then  first  thy  time  and  possibility  have  come.  It  is  for 
thee  now ;  do  thou  that,  and  ask  no  man's  counsel,  but  thy 
own  only,  and  God's.  Brother,  thou  hast  possibility  in  thee 
for  much :  the  possibility  of  writing  on  the  eternal  skies  the 
record  of  a  heroic  life.  That  noble  downfallen  or  yet  unborn 
"  Impossibility,"  thou  canst  lift  it  up,  thou  canst,  by  thy  soul's 
travail,  bring  it  into  clear  being.  That  loud  inane  Actuality, 
with  millions  in  its  pocket,  too  "possible"  that,  which  rolls 
along  there,  with  quilted  trumpeters  blaring  round  it,  and  all 
the  world  escorting  it  as  mute  or  vocal  flunky,  —  escort  it  not 
thou ;  say  to  it,  either  nothing,  or  else  deeply  in  thy  heart : 
"  Loud-blaring  Nonentity,  no  force  of  trumpets,  cash,  Long- 
acre  art,  or  universal  flunkyhood  of  men,  makes  thee  an 
Entity  ;  thou  art  a  Nonentity,  and  deceptive  Simulacrum,  more 
accursed  than  thou  seemest.  Pass  on  in  the  Devil's  name, 
unworshipped  by  at  least  one  man,  and  leave  the  thoroughfare 
clear  !  " 

Not  on  Ilion's  or  Latium's  plains ;  on  far  other  plains  and 
places  henceforth  can  noble  deeds  be  now  done.  Not  on 
Ilion's  plains ;  how  much  less  in  May  fair's  drawing-rooms ! 
Not  in  victory  over  poor  brother  French  or  Phrygians;  but 


CHAP.  VIIL 


THE  DIDACTIC.  285 


in  victory  over  Frost-jotuns,  Marsh-giants,  over  demons  of 
Discord,  Idleness,  Injustice,  Unreason,  and  Chaos  come  again. 
None  of  the  old  Epics  is  longer  possible.  The  Epic  of  French 
and  Phrygians  was  comparatively  a  small  Epic :  but  that  of 
Flirts  and  Fribbles,  what  is  that  ?  A  thing  that  vanishes 
at  cock-crowing,  —  that  already  begins  to  scent  the  morning 
air !  Game-preserving  Aristocracies,  let  them  "  bush  "  never 
so  effectually,  cannot  escape  the  Subtle  Fowler.  Game  sea- 
sons will  be  excellent,  and  again  will  be  indifferent,  and 
by  and  by  they  will  not  be  at  all.  The  Last  Partridge  of 
England,  of  an  England  where  millions  of  men  can  get  no  corn 
to  eat,  will  be  shot  and  ended.  Aristocracies  with  beards  on 
their  chins  will  find  other  work  to  do  than  amuse  themselves 
'vith  trundling-hoops. 

But  it  is  to  you,  ye  Workers,  who  do  already  work,  and 
are  as  grown  men,  noble  and  honorable  in  a  sort,  that  the 
whole  world  calls  for  new  work  and  nobleness.  Subdue 
mutiny,  discord,  wide-spread  despair,  by  manfulness,  justice, 
mercy  and  wisdom.  Chaos  is  dark,  deep  as  Hell ;  let  light 
be,  and  there  is  instead  a  green  flowery  world.  Oh,  it  is 
great,  and  there  is  no  other  greatness.  To  make  some  nook 
of  God's  Creation  a  little  fruitfuler,  better,  more  worthy  of 
God  ;  to  make  some  human  hearts  a  little  wiser,  manfuler, 
happier,  —  more  blessed,  less  accursed  !  It  is  work  for  a  God. 
Sooty  Hell  of  mutiny  and  savagery  and  despair  can,  by  man's 
energy,  be  made  a  kind  of  Heaven  ;  cleared  of  its  soot,  of  its 
mutiny,  of  its  need  to  mutiny ;  the  everlasting  arch  of  Heaven's 
azure  overspanning  it  too,  and  its  cunning  mechanisms  and 
tall  chimney-steeples,  as  a  birth  of  Heaven  ;  God  and  all  men 
looking  on  it  well  pleased. 

Unstained  by  wasteful  deformities,  by  wasted  tears  or 
heart's-blood  of  men,  or  any  defacement  of  the  Pit,  noble 
fruitful  Labor,  growing  ever  nobler,  will  come  forth,  —  the 
grand  sole  miracle  of  Man  ;  whereby  Man  has  risen  from  the 
low  places  of  this  Earth,  very  literally,  into  divine  Heavens. 
Ploughers,  Spinners,  Builders  ;  Prophets,  Poets,  Kings  ;  Brind- 
leys  and  Goethes,  Odins  and  Arkwrights ;  all  martyrs,  and 


286  PAST   AND   PRESENT.  BOOK  IV. 

noble  men,  and  gods  are  of  one  grand  Host ;  immeasurable ; 
marching  ever  forward  since  the  beginnings  of  the  World. 
The  enormous,  all-conquering,  flame-crowned  Host,  noble  every 
soldier  in  it ;  sacred,  and  alone  noble.  Let  him  who  is  not  of 
it  hide  himself ;  let  him  tremble  for  himself.  Stars  at  every 
button  cannot  make  him  noble ;  sheaves  of  Bath-garters, 
nor  bushels  of  Georges ;  nor  any  other  contrivance  but  man- 
fully enlisting  in  it,  valiantly  taking  place  and  step  in  it. 
O  Heavens,  will  he  not  bethink  himself ;  he  too  is  so  needed 
in  the  Host !  It  were  so  blessed,  thrice-blessed,  for  himself 
and  for  us  all !  In  hope  of  the  Last  Partridge,  and  some 
Duke  of  Weimar  among  our  English  Dukes,  we  will  be  patient 
yet  a  while. 

"  The  future  hides  in  it 
Gladness  aud  sorrow ; 
We  press  still  thorow, 
Nought  that  abides  iu  it 
Daunting  us,  —  onward." 


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